Cold Blood
by larsfarm77
Summary: Roslin falls victim to an increasingly sinster plot spoilers through 3x7 Adama, Roslin, Starbuck.
1. Part 1 Gone

Finally got far enough into this second story to begin posting. Thanks so much to Nerina and SVR for ideas and beta help - you girls rock!

Set a few weeks later in the universe of my first story (Sliver of Light). This story does build a little on the first but I don't think you have to read the first to enjoy this one.

Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica and its characters belong to Ron D. Moore, David Eick and the rest of the folks at the SciFi Channel. I just can't resist messing up their sandbox.

Cold Blood

Battlestar Galactica

1535 hours.

"Repeat, I say again, repeat last transmission." Dualla's voice cut through the buzz of activity in CIC. Her brown eyes were wide, tension visible in the way she clutched the headphone against her ear. Adama shifted his gaze from the in flight fuelling manoeuvres that currently spiralled across the Dradis screens. "Hold, _Colonial One_, I'm putting you through to _Galactica actual_. Sir, "she met Adama's eyes. "I've got _Colonial One_ for you."

Adama snatched the phone from its cradle and pressed it to his ear.

"Adama, go."

The voice on the other end of the line was unsteady. "Um …sir. The President's raptor was due back to Colonial One twenty minutes ago. While it's not unusual for the President to extend a visit, we've received no communication-"

"Hold." Adama barked into the receiver before turning to back to Dualla. "The President's flight plan?"

"Yes, sir." She tapped a few buttons on her console and began scrolling down a character filled screen. "Raptor 235 disembarked _Colonial One_ at 1400 headed for the supply carrier _Bounty. _Return to _Colonial One_ scheduled for 1515. We have confirmation of docking with the _Bounty_."

"Visual confirmation?"

"Yes, sir."

"How many aboard the Raptor?

"Six, sir."

"Pilot?"

"Captain Thrace, sir."

"Try to raise the Raptor. Mr. Gaeta, get me everything you have on the _Bounty_."

"Yes, sir." In stereo.

Adama turned to Colonel Tigh at his right, Dualla's voice insistent in the background. "Raptor 235, this is Galactica. What is your position? Repeat, Raptor 235, _Galactica_. Starbuck, relay your position."

To Tigh: "Launch the alert Vipers and bring the training group home. Put them in close escort formation around the _Bounty. _Contact the fleet, I want that ship isolated." He put the phone back to his ear as Tigh went to work. "What was the President's business on the _Bounty_?"

"Ahh…" Adama could hear papers shuffling. "I'm sorry, sir, she's added a written note to her schedule and I'm having trouble … ok … it says blessing."

_A blessing? _This in itself was not unusual. Despite the scientific miracle that had cured Laura's cancer, many of the more religious colonists still believed her to be a prophet. She often took time out of her gruelling schedule to bless newborns or the dying. They had agreed, however, that this would only take place on _Colonial One_ or _Galactica_.

"Do you have the President's personal aide on board?" He asked.

"Yes, Tory Foster is here."

"Good. I'm sending a Raptor, put her on it. Tell her to bring anything relevant to the President's visit today."

"Will do."

"Adama, out." He slammed the receiver down and turned his gaze on Tigh.

"Already on it." Tigh was in motion.

Dualla's voice. "Sir, I have Hot Dog."

Viper 452 - Space outside the Supply Carrier _Bounty_

1555 hours.

Lt. Costanza's viper was one of eight taking position around the _Bounty_. The ship was bulky, old and about a quarter of the size of _Galactica_. Its hull was a dirty grey, pockmarked liberally with dents and dings of every size. A colourful array of cargo containers were suspended from magnetic rails on its underside. There were a few uneven rows of tiny view ports, a small arcing bridge and a couple of obvious docking bays. He completed a tight pass, even though the other ships of the fleet had been ordered to move away from the _Bounty, _leaving plenty of manoeuvring room.

"_Galactica, _this is Hot Dog. Have completed one pass of the _Bounty. _One port docking bay, one starboard. All's quiet. Executing close escort formation." The seven other vipers in his flight group took their positions alongside the _Bounty, _two sweep escorts out front, two rear and four flanking with Hot Dog flying the starboard flank of the lumbering carrier.

"Hot Dog, Galactica. I've been directed to ask you to hail the _Bounty_." Dualla's voice, loud and insistent in his ear.

"Copy that, Galactica." He flipped on his communications array, tuning to a general fleet wide frequency. "_Bounty, Bounty, _this is Viper 452, call sign Hot Dog. Please respond on this channel. Over." He flipped to open channel and was met with static. After a few seconds he repeated, "Supply carrier _Bounty, _Hot Dog. Please acknowledge on this channel, over." He continued the hail but received only static in response.

"Galactica, Hot Dog. _Bounty _is not responding to hails. Request instructions." He continued to peer into the view port that was nearest his Viper, trying to find evidence of motion inside the bulky vessel.

"Hot Dog, Galactica. You are ordered to instruct the _Bounty _to expect a boarding party unless she answers hails."

"Roger, Galactica." He flipped back to fleet wide. "_Bounty, _Hot Dog. Be informed that unless you respond to hails, you will be boarded. Repeat. Please respond or prepare to be boarded."

Then he waited.

Static.

And then a whine so high pitched his hands flew to the sides of his helmet, inertia keeping his fighter steady as her pilot squeezed his eyes shut against the noise. A similar scene was playing out on the decks of CIC. When the whining finally stopped, this message penetrated his ringing ears:

"Do not approach this vessel. Any ship attempting to dock or otherwise interfere with the operation of the _Bounty _will be responsible for the murder of the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. Repeat. Do not approach or attempt to dock with this vessel. Any incursion will result in the death of President Laura Roslin. Stand by for further instructions." The voice was male, a tenor that spoke without any emotion. The message repeated three times and then the channel went silent.

Raptor 235 - Space outside Colonial One

4 hours ago

"Stop showing off, Racktrack, she can't even see you!" Kara Thrace's infectious laugher filled the open comm. channel.

"Yes, sir!" Galactica's combat air patrol, this rotation lead by Lt. Margaret "Racetrack" Edmonson, had just buzzed the President's Raptor as it passed within range of the air group's current flight pattern. The vipers settled into a temporary escort formation before resuming course. Starbuck had to squeeze her hand tight on the stick not to waggle the Raptor in response. She had promised the President a nice easy trip. She switched to the inner ship comm.

"Sit tight everyone; we'll be in range of the _Bounty_ in … two minutes." Kara opened the throttle and banked smoothly around the bulk of a cargo container vessel, owned by _Colonial Movers_, moving further towards the outer layer of ships. She banked again and began her approach towards the _Bounty._

"_Bounty, _this is Raptor 235. Call sign, Starbuck. I have you in visual contact, please respond. Over."

"Raptor 235, this is the _Bounty, _we have you in visual contact."

"_Bounty, _Starbuck. Request docking procedures."

"Roger, Starbuck. Approach starboard landing bay, hands on speed 85. Checkers red. Call the ball."

Hands on approach? With a carrier as old as this was there any other way? "Copy that, _Bounty_. Starboard landing bay, hands on approach, speed 85, I have the ball." Kara brought her in for a picture perfect landing. She smiled. She doubted the landing had disturbed a single hair on the President's head.

"Skids down, maglock secure, the _Bounty _is honoured to welcome the President of the Twelve Colonies aboard." The ship began a rather jerky descent on the landing platform. Metal shrieked against metal.

"Roger, _Bounty. _Starbuck over and out."

The upper bay sealed above them and there was a loud hiss as the area around them was pressurized. With pressurization complete, the lower bay doors opened and the ship descended into the lower hanger bay. Kara scanned the empty bay. It wasn't large and it wasn't pretty. There were stains of every kind on the dank, grey floor, parts, storage boxes, diagnostic trolleys and equipment were haphazardly arranged in the space. A raised metal gantry lined three of the walls. There were no other vessels.

Starbuck broke the seal on her helmet, pulling it off and setting it next to her on the sensor console. She was joined by two members of the President's security team. They scanned the hanger bay as well, not particularly satisfied with what they saw.

"Captain Thrace, can you run an infrared scan across the bay. There are way too many places to hide in there."

Kara unstrapped, moved to the ECO console and began the scan. After a second pass to confirm she answered. "All clear."

"Good. The President is not to deplane until you've seen an all clear signal from us. If you would cover the rear, sir?"

"I'm at your service."

They were distracted then by the hatch at the far end of the landing bay. It had opened and three unremarkably dressed civilians stepped through. They crossed the bay until they were about halfway to the Raptor, and then stopped, folding their hands in front of them. _Here we go. _She cleared the scan and headed aft where she was greeting by the Colonial President and the rest of her security staff, already unbuckled and assembling near the hatch.

"My compliments, Captain Thrace that was some landing." Though she didn't smile, there was a sparkle in Roslin's eyes.

"That's what they pay me for, ma'am." she smiled, inwardly glad that Roslin had noticed. Roslin's security repeated their instructions and cracked the hatch. All four stepped out onto the wing of the Raptor and scanned the bay. They then descended to the deck one at a time, hands to their sidearms. After a few moments, Matthews raised his hand.

Kara touched the President's shoulder lightly. "You're on, ma'am."

Battlestar Galactica  
Adama's quarters.

1620 hrs.

"Miss Foster, thank you for coming. Please sit down; we don't have a lot of time." Adama gestured to the chair opposite him. Tory sat and eyed Adama in a manner that was meant to hide her nervousness. While she envied the gentle affection and support he gave the President, she couldn't be faulted for finding the man intimidating. The table was littered with the schematics and specifications of a large supply ship. "In light of what's happened, I'm interested in the circumstances of the President's visit today." He was glacially calm, his gaze seeming to bore through to the back of her skull.

She opened her briefcase and pulled out some papers and a video tape. She pushed the tape across the table to him. "We received this yesterday by interfleet courier. If you would care to play it, sir."

Adama didn't hesitate, crossing the room to slide the tape into his vid reader. There was a brief period of channel static and then …

_They were lovely. A young couple, probably not more than twenty-five years old, stood almost embarrassed before the camera. He was tall, with long dark hair and about three days growth on his beard. The woman was blond, with delicate features and fullness to her body that spoke of recent childbirth. They were standing in front of a very used looking isolette in what appeared to be a crude medical facility._

Adama was immediately drawn in by the haunted look in their eyes, reflecting back at him his own agony at having lost Zak.

_The man put a calming hand on his wife's upper arm and spoke:_

_"President Roslin, Prophet of the Gods," his voice was rich but unsteady, emotion deepened the timbre. "We are greatly humbled to be offered this small amount of your valuable time. I am Andreas Alinda and this is my wife, Sophia." He squeezed her arm and she attempted a smile, her other hand knuckling away her tears. _

"_Two days ago, we were blessed by the Gods with the birth of our first child. We named her Zoe." The picture jostled as the camera approached the isolette. After a rapid slide along a dismal grey bulkhead, the camera focussed on a tiny form, nestled in the warmth of the tiny plastic bin_.

Adama gazed in wonder at how something so small could be so perfectly human. Ten fingers, ten toes. Everything as it should be despite the disconcerting presence of monitoring wires and the breathing tube that obscured the child's tiny mouth. She had a cloud of soft, dark hair.

"_Sophia wasn't to have given birth to our Zoe for another two months." Andreas' voice could be heard in the background as the image of the child remained. "Dr. Benson has told us …That …" his voice had fallen to a whisper and he coughed, continuing shakily "Zoë's lungs are not developed enough for her to breathe on her own. That … she will be find rest with the Gods very soon." The camera pulled back and focussed on the couple once more, the woman now all but turned from the camera, her face awash in tears. "Please, we beg you, come and bless Zoë that her soul might find its way back to the Gods. Please. We are on the supply ship Bounty and we await your response with great faith in your kindness and wisdom. Thank you."_

The tape ended abruptly and Adama took his time turning back to Tory, blinking rapidly.

Laura had no children but he knew that this would have broken her heart. And there was no way you could move a child that weak. "Did you have the tape scanned and verified?" He asked Tory abruptly.

"Yes, everything checked out. I have the report here." She pushed a few of the papers towards Adama as he sat down again.

He glanced at the report. "This is a limited scan."

"Yes, sir, the circumstances just didn't leave us the time-"

"And you just let her go," his tone was accusing and she didn't like it.

"You, of all people Admiral, should now how stubborn the President can be. I did the only thing I could do. I made her take extra security and called in a favour from Starbuck."

The hatch fairly burst open before Adama had a chance to respond. Tigh flicked a glance towards Tory on his way to the Admiral.

"This just arrived in CIC." He handed Adama a plain brown envelope addressed simply to him in plain type. He tore it open without replying and both people in the room caught the flicker in his expression as he drew out the contents. He calmly set it down on the table.

"Son of a bitch." Tigh was beginning to think that trouble followed that woman like a duckling imprinting on its mother. Tory leaned forward out of her chair to see a photo on the table. The President looked calm. She was seated, missing only her suit coat, and a man who looked exactly like he belonged with the masked New Caprica police stood behind her holding today's copy of the Fleet News.

Adama was remarkably calm. Tory knew that his relationship with the President had changed on New Caprica and had sensed that they were still trying to determine the boundaries now that Roslin had resumed her duties. Their escape from that muddy hellhole had made the public lenient but it wouldn't last. Of this she reminded Roslin, nearly daily.

Adama picked up the picture and handed it to Tigh. "Give it to Gaeta. Personally. Tell him to run every test he knows." He glanced pointedly in Tory's direction, and then spoke again to Tigh. "Trace back the path of this envelope and have Vice President Zarek transferred to Galactica immediately. Miss Foster, report to Lt. Dualla. She'll assign you guest quarters for the time being, dismissed. "

Supply carrier _Bounty_  
Hanger deck.

3.5 hours ago.

The bullets had come from above. The bodies of her armed guard hit the ground before she'd had a chance to take a breath. She would certainly have been lying beside them but for a well timed and likely bruising shove from Kara Thrace. Roslin's face and hands took the brunt of her graceless fall against the concrete of the tiny hanger deck, Kara's momentum landing her on Roslin's legs. She felt Kara scramble up her body to shout "Stay down!" near her ear. Bullets continued to pepper the metal plating of the Raptor behind her. There was a loud shatter as the Raptor's canopy cracked and fell in on itself. Roslin shifted to bring her body entirely under the cover of the Raptor's starboard wing. Looking over her shoulder she caught sight of Kara's feet. She had positioned herself behind the cover of the Raptor's nose and had begun to spray the gantry above the hanger with bullets of her own. There was a scream and the sound of a body hitting the deck.

_How the frak had this happened? _They had just wanted a blessing. A beautiful young couple whose child was too sick to be taken to Colonial One. Her heart had gone out to them and she'd agreed to visit their aging supply ship. Tory had insisted she take Starbuck in addition to her usual security force. She had laughed at the number of guns she had to protect her against a little spit-up.

Kara's scream brought her back to reality. Without thinking, she slid commando style under the Raptor, emerging on the other side. Kara was sitting, her back against the Raptor, trying to reload her gun one handed. Her other arm was slack, a widening red stain at her bicep. Roslin scrambled towards her.

The bullets stopped. A loud voice rang through the hanger. "We want the President. We will spare the pilot if she comes out now."

Continued in part 2.


	2. Part 2 In the Dark

See part 1 for disclaimer. Love to all who reviewed!

Battlestar Galactica

Combat.

1700 hrs.

"Sir, you'd better listen to this," Dualla was shaking her head.

"Put it on speaker."

Dualla flipped a switch and a female voice filled CIC. "Fleet News has just received an unconfirmed report of an explosion on the supply carrier _Bounty. _President Laura Roslin, whom you heard earlier is a prisoner aboard this vessel, is feared dead." An incredulous rumble of voices and gasps spread through CIC. "Sources say the explosion occurred after the military attempted to board the supply carrier in violation of the _Bounty's _earlier transmission."

The _Bounty _had broadcast her initial message over general fleet frequencies. Within seconds, Galactica had been inundated with comm traffic. Now, in the absence of a satisfactory response, they were making guesses.

The reporter droned on but Adama was already moving. Colonel Tigh was the first to speak. "Where the frak did they get that load of crap."

Adama cut him off. "Dualla, have Tory Foster convene the press in Conference A. I need to make a statement."

"Yes, sir."

Conference Room A.

1730 hrs.

Nervous voices filled the room. Questions multiplied exponentially in number and volume as Tory took to the podium. _Galactica'_s largest conference room was stuffed to capacity with over-caffeinated reporters, their teeth freshly sinking into the news off the wireless. Tory stood at the podium, arms outstretched, almost yelling to be heard above the din. "I can't confirm anything right now, this is a developing situation -" She stepped back as she noticed Adama enter the room and he quickly took the podium.

"If I could have your attention." Adama's voice was measured and calm. The reporters were quick to settle attesting to the urgency of the situation and the authority of the man in front of them. A roomful of recording devices switched on as one.

"I have a brief statement and then I will take a few questions." He paused and scanned the room gravely. "As many of you have already heard this afternoon, President Roslin did not return from a scheduled meeting with representatives of the supply carrier _Bounty. _I can confirm that she is still aboard this ship, now more than two hours past her scheduled return time of 1515 hrs."

Questions came at him in waves. He raised his voice slightly. "At this time," the voices began to abate. "At this time, we have confirmation that the President is alive and well. Reports of an explosion on the _Bounty _are false. We have been in contact with Vice President Zarek who is currently enroute to _Galactica_. The Quorum will be gathering shortly. Please rest assured that the government is continuing to operate and every possible measure will be taken to ensure the safety of the President and the crew of her Raptor. "

The room exploded once again the moment the fleet's commanding officer appeared finished with his statement.

The Admiral stood calmly, making it clear that he would not field any questions until order was restored. While Adama recognized many of the faces in the room, he did not have each of their names. He simply pointed from one to the next.

"Can you be any more specific about the details surrounding the President's abduction?" A young man near the front.

"The President's flight plan has been made public. As the situation is a developing one, information that does not compromise the safety of the President will be disseminated through Miss Foster if and when it becomes available. Next."

"What about the identity of the President's abductors? Has anyone claimed responsibility? Is there truth to the rumours that Vice President Zarek or the prisoners on the _Astral Queen _are involved?" A tall blond woman managed to get all the questions out on one breath. Adama clutched the podium with both hands but his voice remained low and steady.

"The list of the President's enemies would be a long one. No one has been ruled out. At this point there is absolutely no reason to suspect Vice President Zarek of any involvement. He has expressed his concern and his willingness to help resolve this situation. Next."

"Have there been any demands?"

"No. Next."

"Are any additional measures being taken? Do you expect further attacks on the civilian government or on your own person?" This from the back of the room. He couldn't make out the face among the bright lights of the camera operators.

"At this point it looks like an isolated incident. For the safety of the President and the crew of her Raptor, I cannot discuss our response at this time. As you know, the fleet is in a constant state of readiness. We are at war." He glowered at them, starting to tire of the questioning.

"You say that you have reason to believe that the President is alive. We'd like to hear that reason."

"Reports of the President's death are erroneous. I can give you nothing more than my personal assurance that the President is alive and well."

"What about rumours that there are Cylons on the _Bounty_? Should we be preparing for a Cylon attack?"

"We are always prepared for the eventuality of a Cylon attack. If there are indeed rumours, they are completely unsubstantiated."

"Is their truth to the rumour that Vice President Zarek has had a heart attack?"

_Where the hell did that come from? Were these people insane_? _What would they come up with next? _

"That's completely false."

"Who's making the decisions for the government right now? Who's in charge?"

"As I explained, I am in contact with Vice President Zarek and the daily affairs of government will proceed under his authority."

"Does this mean Tom Zarek is President?"

Adama's glower turned hateful. "No. Thank you everyone but it is time that I returned to the situation at hand. Miss Foster will remain to attend to any further questions." Tory looked at him in horror knowing that his words would chain her to the podium for hours. He had turned away from the crowd of reporters when the next question hit him like a knife in his back.

"Were you planning on sharing this photo with the press?"

He turned to see that willowy blond woman again, _Playa_?, holding a copy of the photo he had received from Colonel Tigh just half an hour ago. The whole room turned to her, the noise level peaking as eyes found the photo.

"Bring it here." Adama's voice cut through the commotion with precision. The reporters parted and Playa approached the podium.

"I have copies," she told him impertinently.

"Come with me," he gestured towards the hatch at his left and nodded to Tory to resume the conference. Playa shrugged at her fellow reporters and followed him into the corridor.

"Whatever you have to say, why can't you say it in there?" She stood in front of him, arms crossed.

"Look, Playa is it?" He was dismayed to have to look up at her, but knew his glare would be intimidating in any case.

"Yes."

"Turn that off." He indicated the audio recorder in her hand. When she clicked it off he added, "Any more or do I need Michaels here to search you." She took one glance at the marine that stood by the hatch and reached into her pocket, handing Adama a second recorder.

"Thank you. This situation is stable for now. It is vital that anyone who has any relevant information bring it to the attention of the military or their ship's representative as quickly as possible. How did you obtain the photo?"

"Fleet courier dropped it on my desk a half an hour ago. I have the envelope in my folder in the conference room. The first thing I did was make copies." Her attitude was irritating to say the least.

"Don't run it."

Her eyes flashed. "Like hell. This is the biggest story since New Caprica."

"I know I can't order you to do this, so I am appealing to your sense of honour. Your responsibility towards the wellbeing of your President. This photo will cause panic and panic is contagious. I can't concentrate on resolving the situation with the President if I'm putting out fires all over the fleet. Please. Sit on this for one day."

"And in return?" Her gaze was calculating but he was expecting this.

"A place for you in the situation room. You can record everything that's going on. Audio only. All news releases would have to be filtered through Tory Foster or Colonel Tigh." The move was dangerous and he knew it but part of him wanted this recorded. An undisputable record seemed necessary.

Playa actually looked like she was taking a moment to consider what had to be a reporter's wet dream. "Very well," she said finally.

"Thank you. Leave the photo and the envelope with Miss Foster. Now if you'll excuse me." He handed her the audio recorder and stepped past her and down the corridor.

Supply Carrier _Bounty_

3 hours ago.

The bullets stopped. A loud voice rang through the hanger. "We want the President. We will spare the pilot if she comes out now."

_Frak me. _Kara bit down hard on her lower lip and scanned the rear of the cargo bay, mind reeling with possibilities. Settling on one, she felt Roslin settle beside her, eyeing her bleeding arm. Kara was crouched behind the nose of the ruined Raptor. She had managed to reload her weapon and held it loosely against her thigh. Kara brought her lips to Roslin's ear.

"If they had wanted to kill you, they would have already." Her voice was so low Roslin had to concentrate her full attention on it.

Two of their assailants cocked their weapons loudly. "Surrender you weapon. Step out from behind the Raptor. Hands behind your heads."

Kara wasn't sure Roslin was capable of what she had planned. Yet, no one had thought she was capable of the Presidency either. She kept talking. "Do you see the air duct on the wall to my left?"

Roslin leaned past her briefly then settled back. "Yes."

"I'm going to slide my weapon toward them. At the same time, I'm going to move to the vent. They'll be temporarily distracted. When you see me reach the vent, stand up and let them see you and for Gods' sake have your arms above your head. Say anything that comes to mind. Don't come out from behind the Raptor; tell them you have to tend to me. I should have the vent cover off by then. Dive for the vent and don't stop moving once you're inside. Crawl as fast as you can, as far as you can. Do you understand?"

"Yes." If Roslin was nervous or thought the plan was insane her voice didn't reveal it.

"Now!" the shout came from their would-be captors. Roslin set her jaw and watched as Kara slid her weapon under the Raptor.

"We're coming out!" Kara yelled as she moved silently to the air duct, the body of the Raptor shielding her from view. Satisfied that Kara had made it, Roslin forced her legs to straighten, bringing her upper body clear of the nose of the Raptor. Her one arm settled behind her head, she lifted the other as far as she was able. It took a moment to get over the shock of what she saw. Two men, their uniform and armour indistinguishable from that of the former New Caprican police force, stood pointing automatic rifles at her chest. Their faces were hidden beneath black balaclavas. The three civilians were nowhere in sight. She heard a single groan from the vicinity of her security detail and took heart.

"If it's me that you want, I'll come freely. Let the others go," she said calmly and with as much Presidential authority as she could muster.

"Step out from behind the Raptor. Pilot too. Or I'm gonna start shooting." The man on the left said and twitched his rifle.

"My pilot is injured." Very slowly she started to lower her body, keeping her hands in view. "I'm just going to help her up." The men nodded at her and she lowered herself the rest of the way, knee joints protesting the slowness of the action. Mouthing a brief prayer to the Gods she turned and launched herself towards the black mouth of the now open air vent. She landed awkwardly, her shins striking the outer lip of the vent as she propelled her body inside. She could hear them yelling from inside the hanger bay and ignored the pain, scrambling forward as fast as she could in the dark. She had made it no more than twenty metres when something shot out and grabbed her arm. Swallowing a scream, she allowed Kara to pull her through a perpendicular junction in the venting.

"Follow me. No matter what you hear, don't stop unless I do." Kara turned and scrambled forward on hands and knees. Roslin followed, cursing her long legs. She could hear the echo of voices from where they'd come and tried to move faster.

Battlestar Galactica

Corridors outside Adama's quarters

1800 hrs

"Conference room A has been set up for the press, and we've arranged for the visiting government officials to occupy Conference B. The Quorum will be gathering there shortly." Dualla walked shoulder to shoulder with Vice President Zarek, two aides following in their wake. "You've been assigned temporary quarters. I've been directed to escort you for a brief meeting with the Admiral before you'll join the Quorum."

Zarek was busy watching the crew of _Galactica_ as they passed. Some nodded at him; others threw daggers with their eyes. When Dualla seemed to be expecting something he said "Thank you, Lieutenant. …Dualla is it?" He focussed his attention on the slight woman beside him and smiled warmly.

"Yes, sir." Dualla didn't look up from the pile of notes in her hands.

Zarek leaned in conspiratorially and lightly set a hand on Dualla's shoulder. "For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I want to thank you for the efforts you made during the rescue from New Caprica. You took an awful risk, and I for one am very grateful."

Dualla's eyes snapped over to Zarek's. "With all due respect, sir, I'm not the one you should be thanking." _Thank the Admiral. Thank Lee._ They had reached the door to Adama's quarters and Dualla looked up to find the Admiral striding towards them. She stepped to the side, putting distance between herself and the Vice President and came to attention.

"As you were." Adama extended a hand towards Zarek. Swallowing his surprise, the Vice President fought the urge to look around them for the press as he clasped the Admiral's hand. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Vice President. It is unfortunate we aren't meeting under better circumstances."

_Nice gesture, you wish we weren't meeting at all. _"Tom, please. Thank you, Admiral. I share your concern for the President and I know how important it is to preserve continuity of command under these circumstances. For the people's morale."

Adama scowled. He looked about to say something and then held back. He eyed Zarek's aides before spinning the hatch to his quarters. "You'll need to make a brief statement to the press."

"Not a problem."

"Good." Adama eyed his aides again. He looked at Zarek. "Can we leave them outside?"

Zarek smiled that snake oil salesman smile of his and put his hands on his aides' shoulders. "Give us a minute, ok." They nodded and didn't follow when the two men entered Adama's quarters.

Adama walked to his water pitcher and poured two glasses. "Water?"

"Yes, thank you." Zarek took the offered glass. "What's the latest?"

"Please, sit." Adama indicated the chair opposite him across the table. Zarek sat.

"We've had no further communication from the _Bounty_. They still refuse to answer hails. Major Adama is working on a tactical assault plan. This is a copy of the photo we received an hour ago. Lt. Gaeta is still verifying the original." He slid the photo across the desk.

Zarek was quiet then as he studied the photo. Adama's stomach turned slightly as Zarek ran his finger lightly over Laura's image. He met Adama's eyes, displaying a depth of emotion that Adama did not expect. "At least we know Laura's ok."

_Laura. _There it was in the background, that enigma that was New Caprica. Enough happened that Laura saw fit to make this man her Vice President and if Adama let himself think clearly about it, he burned to know exactly what. "For now. It's been a while and no demands."

"That's unusual." Zarek grew pensive. He knew Adama would consider him somewhat of an expert on this subject, the terrorist that he had been. "Maybe they already have what they want."

Adama nodded slowly. "Maybe. Maybe they're just patient. The question is, who's behind this?" Adama pushed a pile of papers towards Zarek. "This is the revised passenger manifest for the _Bounty_. I'd appreciate it if you would go through it with your associates and see if any names stick out. Even by omission."

"My associates?" Zarek almost snickered at hearing the former prisoners of the _Astral Queen _referred to in this way. "Of course, anything I can do to help. New Caprica complicates things though."

"In what way?"

Zarek sighed. "Out here, everyone's divided by ship. New Caprica changed that; people who quite literally had never seen each other before could interact every day. This could well extend farther than just the _Bounty._" He studied Adama's face. "It bothers you, doesn't it?"

"What?"

"That you're missing more than a year, that you have no idea what went on down there. With her. Maybe that's why you're being so accommodating."

"I don't have time for this." Adama stood. "Until we recover the President, you and I are going to have to figure out a way to work together. I thought it best to take the initiative. Perhaps I was mistaken." He got up and opened the door for the Vice President. "I'm needed in CIC; Lieutenant Dualla will escort you to the press room."

Zarek held up the papers Adama had given him as he exited the room. "If there's anything here, I'll find it."

"Good." He nodded. "Mr. Vice-President." And strode away.

Zarek leaned to his aides and said quietly. "Find me a copy of the Articles of Colonization."

"Right." They nodded and Zarek moved to follow Dualla.

Supply Carrier _Bounty_

30 minutes ago.

She was really tired of the sight of Kara's ass. They had been scrambling through air duct after air duct for what felt like hours. Best guess had them four decks above and a long way aft of the hanger deck. Roslin's knees were sore, her back, neck and wrists ached constantly. Kara's athletic body made easy work of the endless crawling and Roslin sensed that she could have gone much faster if she hadn't had to wait for a fifty year old woman in heels. She thanked the Gods she'd opted for a pant suit.

The space was cramped and neither Kara nor Roslin were small. Like every other civilian vessel, the ship was overcrowded and noisy. There was occasional light when they passed a vent to a lighted room but the ducts were mostly dark. And dusty. And then there was the smell. Every vessel in the fleet seemed to have its own distinct odour, none of them pleasant.

"Captain Thrace, wait." Roslin kept her voice low. She had intermittently noticed something wet in the duct under her hands and was finally clueing in to what it was. Kara stopped and turned towards her, her back pressed against the wall of the duct. "You're bleeding."

Kara glanced in the direction of her arm. "I know. It's a through and through. Not too bad." She went to turn away again but Roslin grabbed her foot.

"Look, you're all I've got here. You pass out and I'll have to lug your ass through these frakking ducts and I don't think my back will take it. Let me see." She reached over to help Kara pull down the body of her flight suit, oblivious to the rather stunned look in the Captain's eyes.

"Back off." Kara batted her hands away, her expression shifting slowly from indignant to sheepish. "Sorry, Madam President. But I can handle it."

The trouble was President Roslin made her nervous. While she understood her responsibility to the woman, this had to be the most time they had spent alone together in the history of the colonies. At least on Kobol, there had been others. There had been Lee. On New Caprica, before the cylons, there had been some memorable moments but they hadn't been friends. As President, Roslin wasn't part of the military but she had a frightening amount of power over them. Over her. And she was … well … old. Admiral Adama was so much better at handling her. _Nice choice of words, Kara._

Roslin had the urge to ask Kara to call her Laura. At least while they were stuck in this metallic version of hell. She stopped herself, figuring Kara wouldn't react well. Billy, bless his soul, had told her a long time ago that the military operated on protocol, on respect for the chain of command.

Kara used her good arm to pull the zipper on the flight suit and it was soon pooled at her waist. Roslin had removed her suit coat and was fumbling with the sleeve of her blouse, trying to rip loose something to wrap Kara's arm. She looked up to see Kara's other arm extended towards her, a pocket knife in her hand. While she hated to lose it, this had never been her favourite blouse. The knife slit the seam easily and, wary of being pushed away again, she handed the sleeve to Kara. Kara took what was offered and fought a grin.

"It's a good look, ma'am," she said, taking in the sight of Roslin's mismatched arms. Her bare left arm was more muscular than Kara would have expected. _New Caprica explains that._ The older woman actually giggled quietly and Kara gave into the grin. Using her good arm and her teeth, she bandaged her arm as best she could adding some tape salvaged from the flight suit. She thanked the Gods that she hadn't needed Roslin to go digging for a bullet.

"What do we do now?" Roslin asked calmly as if she spent most of her afternoons in ventilation shafts.

"So far, I've been trying to get us as far from the hanger bay as possible. We needed to avoid pursuit. Our priority now should be to get you off of this ship. The sooner we take you out of play, the better."

Like it was all some kind of game. Classic Starbuck. "Any ideas?"

"None you're going to like, ma'am."

They were interrupted by a loud whine emanating from what sounded like a public address system. They scanned the ducts as if looking for the source of the sound. The ship itself grew silent as the crowds filling its cabins and hallways also paused to listen.

"What is your name?"

The voice was muffled but the words rang clear through the metal ductwork.

"John … John Matthews." The voice sounded forced from between clenched teeth. At the sound of it, Roslin froze.

"What do you do, John Matthews?" There was a pause. Then:

"Security for the President of the Colonies." Kara moved towards Roslin, anticipating what was happening.

"For how long?" The voice had a conversational tone.

"Three weeks."

A loud gasp echoed from the PA. It could only have been Matthews.

"Tell me, what am I doing now?" The words were laced with menace. There was a long pause punctuated only by the sounds of someone trying to control their breathing.

"You - You're holding a gun to my head."

Roslin gasped, a sound that seemed to echo down the ship's corridors as others joined her. Her body slouched back against the wall of the duct, her eyes closed briefly.

"Thank you, John. This message is for the gophers in the ventilation system. If you are not out and standing in any of the service corridors in the next fifteen seconds, this man will die." A pause. Then: "One… two …"

_No!_ Roslin began to crawl towards the nearest access grate. Kara grabbed her arm. The crowds were deathly silent.

"Let. Go." Roslin jerked her arm out of Kara's grasp and continued toward the lighted opening.

"six ... seven …"

"Madam Pres- Laura!" Roslin turned at the sound of her first name. "Don't. Let him do his job."

"nine …"

_What?_ Roslin tried to think around the dread that knotted her stomach, the incessant pounding that was her heart. She could hardly breathe.

"It's Matthews' duty to protect you. He's doing it now. You step out and he'll die for nothing." Kara's face was right in front of her, she had blocked the vent with her body. Roslin found her eyes and took strength from the certainty she saw there. She held on to the gaze like a drowning woman clutching the hand of her rescuer.

"thirteen … fourteen … fif … teen." The gunshot penetrated her very soul. There were gasps and shouts from all over the aging ship. Roslin dropped her head, hands coming up to cover her mouth, auburn hair falling forward to hide the tears she couldn't keep from falling. Kara was silent for a respectful moment and then gently set a hand on Roslin's shoulder.

"Come on, we gotta move." Kara's eyes had a sheen to them that she tried to blink away. Roslin nodded her head, sniffing loudly. She palmed away her tears, reaching to squeeze Kara's hand slightly as she removed it from her shoulder. She was surprised how quickly her shock and hurt sublimated into anger. She hardly knew Matthews and now the man had died for her. Thinking of her desk drawer, she realized that he had not been the first.

There was a growing rumble emanating from all over the ship. Hands banged against the metal grate nearest them, voices rising from the adjoining cabins.

"There's someone in there!"

Light spilled into the duct as a grate further behind them burst open. Arms came through. A ship full of chronically bored Colonists had all found something to do at once. Someone to look for.

"Frak." That had to be Kara. Roslin struggled to keep up with her as bodies poured into the duct.

Battlestar Galactica

Crew quarters.

1830 hrs.

Felix Gaeta sat in his cabin and sweated. He rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, trying to figure out what to do. A copy of the passenger manifest for the _Bounty _was spread across the sheets on his rack. The truth was that he thought he knew why the President had been abducted. Only if he told Adama the man would probably kill him where he stood. No, he'd probably take his time. To enjoy his suffering. Regardless, whatever Adama could think to do with him, Tigh would undoubtedly do worse. Much worse.

Gaeta had spent the remainder of his duty shift in front of a computer screen in what had been Baltar's lab. He had stared into the face of Laura Roslin for what seemed like hours checking the illumination conditions, edge sharpness, resolution, tone, relative scale and noise characteristics of her image in the digital photograph. Everything checked out. Even image stenography revealed no abnormalities, no artefacts. He had delivered the information to the Admiral personally, nearly running into the man as his eyes were so used to focussing at a distance of less than a foot. The Admiral's expression had been unreadable.

He looked at the manifest again, the name calling to him with the urgency of a Dradis contact. There had to be another way. A way he could let command know of his suspicions and continue to breathe in and out. He just hadn't thought of it yet. Baltar had had plenty of flunkies, prostitutes and occupying Cylons on Colonial One. Any one of them could have overheard. Any one of them could have delivered the information.

_Think, Felix, think._

Continued in part 3.


	3. Part 3 Failure

See part 1 for disclaimer. Love to those who reviewed!

New Caprica

47 days ago.

Sand outside Colonial One.

It was a pale and sunny New Caprican afternoon which didn't imply for a moment that it was warm. The man walking though the sand was of little more than average height and had a compact body, sculpted from years of work loading and unloading with Picon's largest supply company. He wound his way towards the gleaming silhouette that was Colonial One. In his early forties, he had short blond hair that had more than begun to recede and warm blue eyes. His lips had a gentle curve to them that his wife had liked. He tried to ignore the metal centurions that prowled the revamped Colonial Heavy.

As he ascended the ladder, he slid his hands slowly over its cool metal rails. How many times had she gone up and down these rungs? Was there any remnant of her here, any clue to the mystery he sought so desperately to solve?

The lithe form that was President Baltar sat at his desk, not nearly exuding the confidence of the man in the picture behind him. _Were those velvet pants_? A young man, obviously an aide, sat in one of the chairs before the desk. He was engrossed in a pile of notes in his lap. There were others and he quickly decided that they were a very different sort of aide. One of those incredible looking blonde Cylons stood behind Baltar; her cleavage distracted his eye. He forced himself to look at Baltar as he approached the desk.

"May I offer you a cigarette, Mister President?" He opened a small well worn box and Baltar's senses were awash in the spicy sharp scent of expensive Caprican cigarettes. Baltar smiled impishly.

"By all means, Mister -" Baltar reached for one of the slender, black, cylinders.

"Edom. Karl Edom." He produced a lighter and Baltar allowed him to light his cigarette.

Baltar closed his eyes. The nicotine rush was exhilarating. "Please, sit down."

Karl allowed himself a wary glance at the blond Cylon and sat down. The young aide who occupied the other chair actually glanced at him before his eyes found the notes again.

He considered Baltar. The man was downright jittery. His eyes never seemed to stop moving and seemed wet, as if he'd been crying. The hand holding the cigarette vibrated slightly causing ashes to land haphazardly on the desk. The man did spend his every day with the skin jobs. That would be enough to make him jumpy too.

"I have a proposition for you, Mister President," he said when the smoke seemed to calm Baltar enough to steady his eyes. He set the box of remaining cigarettes between them on the desk. "There is more," he indicated the box. "I need information."

"Never could say no to a proposition." Baltar pursed his lips and glanced knowingly at the Cylon. "What sort of information?"

He decided to be direct. "President Roslin-"

"Former President." Baltar interrupted.

"Yes. The former President was dying of breast cancer. Now she is not. I need to know how and why."

"What makes you think I know anything about that?" Baltar didn't look away and continued to smoke casually.

"Come on. We both know that Cottle's not much more than a mechanic. Only a man of true genius could solve a problem such as hers." He knew Baltar, mostly by reputation, to be extremely self absorbed and the picture behind him seemed to indicate that flattery would not be wasted on the man.

"Well, that certainly is true." Baltar tipped his chin in affirmation of his own brilliance. "But even a genius pales in comparison to a miracle from God … Gods," he cleared his throat, "…the Gods … you understand."

"If you believe Pythia, then you know her cure wasn't the will of the Gods." Karl tapped a slim finger on the box of cigarettes. "I have an entire case, most likely the last one known to man."

Baltar licked his lips. "You know, of course, that there is nothing stopping me from confiscating your goods. As a matter of," he paused, "Presidential priority."

"They would be destroyed before any of your men could get near them."

_Well, we can't let that happen_. "Leave the box," Baltar said finally, "and I will consider your offer."

Was it just him or did the Cylon look agitated? "That's all I ask."

Baltar dismissed Karl with a weak wristed sweep of his hand. He watched the man leave, blowing smoke rings towards his retreating form. When the man was gone, he flicked a glance over his shoulder. "These are incredible, you really should try one." Caprica Six's long fingernails glided along the skin of his neck.

"Careful, Gaius," she said softly into his ear.

Baltar turned towards her. "Why? Hera is dead." He took a long, lazy drag from the cigarette, remembering the execution order he'd been forced to sign. "And it's not like Roslin will be around to care."

Supply Carrier Bounty

Ventilation ducts.

1800 hrs.

Roslin barely stopped herself from careening into Kara's back. Civilians had them trapped, bodies clogging the ducts at both ends. Voices reverberated off of the metal that surrounded them and the temperature rose from the rapidly accumulating body heat. The air was becoming stale, hard to breathe and the smell that had been merely bad was approaching unbearable.

"We got 'em"

"Get outta there, frakkin' gophers."

"Who did we get?"

_Great, a mob. _How the hell was she going to get Roslin past a mob? That bastard on the PA had known exactly what he was doing. If only she had something to barter with. Her mind teased her with ridiculous possibilities …_yeah, hey, I've got the President here and I promise she'll listen to all your grievances if you would just let us through…_ Hands were pulling at them now, forcing them towards the open grate. Kara thanked the Gods she wasn't the claustrophobic type. It seemed like she spent half her life in flight suits and cramped cockpits. Roslin seemed fine but Kara caught a hint of panic in her eyes and tightness in her form that indicated otherwise. _Maybe when they see who it is … _She leaned towards Roslin, yelling to be heard over the vocal haze. "Frak it. I'm going to try talking us out of this. If it doesn't work, be ready to run." _If you want my professional opinion, we're screwed._

Roslin nodded wondering if Kara had ever managed to talk her way out of anything. Kara was forced out the grate first. The cabin she entered was choked with people all trying to get a look at what was hiding in their ventilation system. They were making so much noise that it wouldn't be long before the wrong person noticed.

"That's a Viper pilot!"

"She's hurt."

"What the frak were you doing in there?"

It wasn't long before Roslin stood beside her. Rumpled, sweaty and covered in dust she still had the most famous face in the fleet and it didn't take them long.

"President Roslin? What the frak?"

Kara kept her body in front of Roslin. "Yeah, good, you recognise her. Now, please, I just need to get her off the ship. Please, just get out of the way."

The people nearest them actually started to part when a man near the door to the cabin shouted into the hallway.

"They're in here!" He resurfaced in the room and sneered at them. "Sorry," he said with no hint of apology in his tone. "I voted for Baltar."

Enraged, Kara began to push through the crowd. An all out brawl ensued as Kara tried to clear a path. "Run!" Roslin heard Kara's voice but was already making a break for the hallway. She had some help in the form of a couple of burly colonists who were succeeding in pushing people back. She was nearly there when a large man appeared at the door and grabbed her right arm near the shoulder. Her momentum moving outward and the strength of his grasp dragging her inward sent a searing pain through her barely healed limb and tore a scream from her mouth.

Kara turned at the sound and was hit squarely in the jaw by the man who'd voted for Baltar. She tumbled into the group of Colonists beside her. She felt some hands reach out in support.

"Everybody out!" The man holding Roslin had put a gun to her temple.

"Ahh…" He twisted her shoulder in his grip to cover his body with hers and her vision blurred with tears. There were exclamations and gasps of every kind. Some were distraught; some desperate with regret at flushing them out, some actually urged the man to fire. Kara stood as the Colonists reluctantly filed out, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth.

Battlestar Galactica

Situation Room

1830 hrs

"The tactical situation is a nightmare." Major Apollo eyed his father over the brightly lit strategy board. A blow-up of the layout of the _Bounty _was currently spread out in front of him. Admiral Adama, Colonel Tigh, Lt. Gaeta and the head of the Marine Guard had also gathered to discuss tactical options. Playa's audio recorder sat in clear view in the middle of the table. The woman herself wisely kept out of the way. "Only about a third of the ship is habitable, most of the space being allocated to storage, but it still leaves us with an extensive search area." He indicated a dense, fourteen deck block of crew quarters on the schematic of the _Bounty. _"Since the exodus, the _Bounty _has taken on more passengers than the ship is rated for -"

"Gonna get messy. Even if these terrorists make themselves easy to identify, which they won't, you're gonna have to kill a lot of civvies to get to them." Tigh had both hands planted on the situation board.

"Colonel Tigh is right. Getting marines onto the _Bounty_ is no problem. Getting the President and her Raptor crew out is going to be a bloodbath," Apollo shook his head slowly.

Tigh glared at Apollo. "Damn the civvies, as far as I'm concerned they're harbouring terrorists now. That makes them compliant. If we don't want other ships trying this crazy stunt, we gotta show them what's gonna happen if they do."

"You can't be serious." Vice President Zarek had just entered the room. All eyes turned towards him. "Going in there guns blazing is only going to damage the President's standing in the fleet. The press will run photo after photo of the bodies you leave in your wake." He looked pointedly at Playa. "Even if you are successful, the fleet will remember nothing else. And if you're not …" He let the silence hang.

Apollo recovered first. "Her standing in the fleet? I don't think the President has the luxury of worrying about her reputation right now." He glared at Zarek in a manner that while reminiscent of the elder Adama, lacked his father's intensity.

"Tom Zarek arguing against the use of violence. Will wonders never cease." Adama threw a warning glance at Tigh but didn't reprimand him.

"If you have a better suggestion, Mr. Vice President, we'd like to hear it." Adama crossed his arms and regarded Zarek.

"There is something here that no one seems to be considering." He paused, choosing his words carefully. The military was staunch in its support of Roslin's Presidency and something he'd noticed on New Caprica suggested that the Admiral's interest in the President didn't end with their responsibilities to the Fleet. "I think we can all agree that the President is under duress." He paused but no one spoke. "This puts a tremendous amount of power in the hands of the terrorists should they decide to compel her to act."

"You better not be suggesting that Laura Roslin would ever give in to the demands of terrorists." Tigh's voice was laced with menace. Whatever he had thought of Roslin before New Caprica, his respect for her now ran almost as deep as for the Admiral.

Zarek held up both hands and smiled. "No. Of course not. What I'm saying is that she may not have a choice. It creates an incapacity to discharge the office under the sixteenth amendment to the Articles of Colonization."

"You're making a Gods damned power play. Now?" Tigh was furious.

"I'm just trying to protect the fleet … and it would solve your problem. Make Laura Roslin an ordinary citizen of the Colonies and the terrorists lose their bargaining position. And since we currently lack a civilian police force, the military could still be used to secure her release."

"Son of a-" Adama held up a hand, silencing Tigh.

"Who decides if such an incapacity exists?" Adama asked warily. He wanted all of Zarek's cards on the table.

"It exists if a majority of the Quorum, including the Vice President and the head of the military say it exists. The powers of the President can only be transferred by written declaration by this majority. I've been circling the idea among the Quorum. There is significant support."

Adama studied Zarek's face long enough to make the man uncomfortable. "Is there." It was a statement, not a question. Roslin worked so hard to accommodate the many needs of the members of the Quorum; she gave them more time than she could afford. It disgusted him that they would turn on her so quickly. "I don't think the current situation calls for this sort of drastic measure." He paused. "But that may change."

Zarek nodded, satisfied now that the seed had been planted.

"There is another option, though it's probably more of a last resort." Major Adama's eyes swept the room. "We cut them loose. Withhold the next jump coordinates unless they return our people. They'd never survive on their own."

Tigh snorted. "No way. We need those supplies."

"So we get them first." Apollo indicated the rows of storage containers that were magnetically affixed beneath the supply ship. "A Viper could easily disrupt the magnetic field holding their cargo. Then we'd just have to pick up the floating containers."

"And leave more than a thousand people behind including the President and the best pilot we have left. Unacceptable." Adama ended the discussion.

A second awkward silence ensued.

'What if the terrorists don't want the President? What if all they're after is Laura Roslin?" It was the first time that Gaeta had said anything since the meeting began.

"What?" Adama turned towards him. Gaeta tried to calm his nerves but he couldn't help the sheen of sweat that had formed on his upper lip.

"Well, sir, we are talking about other considerations. The lack of demands seems to imply that the terrorists already have what they want." He clasped his hands together tightly to prevent their shaking. Adama would have to jump the table to get to him and surely he wouldn't do it with a reporter in the room recording everything. He wasn't so sure about Tigh.

"Spit it out, man. If you have something to tell us, then say it." It was the first time Adama had let his nerves get the better of him.

"I will, but only to you, Admiral. And I'll want some assurances first."

Beside him, Adama felt Tigh's temperature rise. "Found something out while you were still a traitor, didn't you?" Adama grabbed Tigh's arm as he started towards Gaeta.

Gaeta backed off and held up his hand. Playa sat forward in her seat.

"Clear the room." Adama ordered, raking his gaze over everyone assembled. Gaeta let out the breath he'd been holding. Tigh still managed to collide roughly with his shoulder as he left the room. "You too." Adama gestured towards Playa.

"You said I could record everything." Her voice actually bordered on a whine.

"Yes, I did. The audio recorder stays. You leave."

Her mouth opened on a rebuttal and then shut again. With an indignant air, she left the room.

When the hatch closed, Adama shut off the recorder and turned back to Gaeta.

"Assurances?" He fixed the younger man with a gaze that would have melted the chrome plating off a Cylon centurion.

"What I know, I overheard in my position as Baltar's aide. All I want is your personal assurance that I won't be kneeling in an airlock again."

"You have it."

Gaeta proceeded to tell him about Karl Edom and his proposition for Gaius Baltar.

"Baltar gave him what he wanted. He had me deliver a sealed envelope to Edom at his shop in the market. After reading the contents, Edom handed me the case of cigarettes. It's safe to assume Baltar told him how the President was cured." He pulled out the passenger manifest for the _Bounty. _"I caught this after you asked me to assemble information on the _Bounty. _" He pointed a finger at two names, both ending in Edom. "That's why I think he might just want her."

Adama indicated the second name on the list. "Who's Henry Edom?"

"I really don't know, sir. Karl Edom did have others with him in the market."

"You've had this information all this time," Adama glare actually intensified.

Gaeta took a wary step back. "No, sir, you've had me working on the photograph. I hadn't even looked at the manifest until an hour ago."

"That's not what I mean. You've known this since the exodus." _And you could have prevented this you frakked up piece of …_

"I … I'd forgotten. Sir." Gaeta backed up further

"You are relieved of duty, Mr. Gaeta. Report to your quarters and stay there. See what else you can remember."

"But, sir-"

"I said I wouldn't send you to the airlock. Dismissed." Gaeta, his shoulders slumped, left the room before Adama did something they would both regret.

Turning, Adama put both hands against the strategy board and hung his head. The rigid muscles in his neck stretched painfully, transferring the sensation down the length of his back. He took his first deep breath in hours and realised instantly that it was a mistake. The frenzy of activity that had filled the last few hours had kept his mind occupied, enabled him to project authority and calm. Alone, his guard down, Roslin ceased to be President and became simply the woman he loved. The transition was jarring; emotions rattling what had been organized thought. His vision blurred and he took a second breath, this time sharp, and forced himself to stand upright. _I'll bring her home. _He swept a hand under the frames of his glasses. It came away wet.

Supply Carrier Bounty

Civilian quarters.

1825 hrs.

"On your knees, Pilot. Now." The room had cleared of Colonists. Kara and Roslin were standing with their backs to the man holding the gun. Kara's hands were neatly folded behind her head. The man had tried to force Roslin into the same position but her throbbing right shoulder wouldn't allow her hand to reach. Instead she appeared to be retaking the oath of office. Blood dripped from Kara's arm. When both women went to kneel, the gun barrel poked into Roslin's back.

"Not you."

She stopped halfway to the floor and returned to standing, Kara's arm brushing her side as she stood. She caught Kara's gaze as the younger woman settled on her knees. The burly man started to bring his gun to the back of Kara's head.

"What are you doing?" Roslin hissed. When he didn't respond, Roslin saw the intent in his eyes and forced herself to move. She stepped sideways as she turned her body around. The barrel of his gun met her chest as she stood between him and Kara.

"No." She said calmly. No one else would die for her today. Not if she had a choice.

He stepped back, startled, his eyes wild. "Out of the way. If she had surrendered in the hanger deck, she would not have been harmed. This was your choice, not mine."

"You kill her and Adama will hunt you like a dog." She met his gaze and held it. "She's the best pilot left. In our _entire civilization_. Our pilots are our only protection from the Cylons; you wouldn't even be here if it weren't for her . You have what you want. Please, don't." He studied her for a few seconds and then grabbed what he knew to be her tender shoulder and shoved, throwing her easily to the floor.

She heard movement as she fell. Gunshots rang out, the sound hurting her ears. _No!_

"Frak!" His voice was punctuated by gunshots. Searching the floor she found her glasses in time to see a path of bullet holes along the wall. Kara must have used her distraction to escape back into the air duct. She strained to hear if Kara was still moving.

"Frak! Come 'ere." The man reached down and grabbed Roslin under her good arm, hauling her to her feet.

Battlestar Galactica

Admiral's quarters

1900 hrs.

"What's up with Gaeta?" Tigh was seated on the sectional, a pounding headache beginning to form. "I swear to the Gods I'll never trust that man again."

"He has an interesting theory. I want to talk to Major Cottle before I decide what to do with it." Adama was seated; his elbows were propped on his desk and he was staring down at its surface intently.

"Cottle?"

"Drop it for now, Saul." Very few people knew the exact details of Laura's cure and Tigh was not one of them. That information would have the same effect on the fleet as a hollow point bullet on the human body. It would shatter on impact, damage multiple areas, and the fragments would be impossible to remove. Until he was sure, he wasn't sharing.

Tigh changed the subject. "You're not seriously considering putting that ass in charge?"

"That 'ass' is also the Vice President of the Colonies." Adama sounded distracted. "I'm still not sure what got into her."

Saul considered that for a moment and had a small, for him, epiphany. "She owed him."

"For what?" Adama didn't look up.

"I seem to recall that after you threw her ass in the brig and she managed to escape, it was Zarek who hid her. Zarek who got her to Kobol. Politically, she owed him a favour." Tigh paused. "Still, it seems too simple."

"Mmm hmm."

"And I found Earth yesterday. It's been nuked all to hell."

"I see."

"You're not listening to me are you?"

When Adama didn't respond, Saul stood and quietly covered the distance between the couch and the desk. There he saw what had captured his friend's attention.

Adama felt more than saw Saul approach the desk. Roslin looked back at him from the photo on its surface. She had that same measured gaze that reflected strength mixed with a kind of maternal warmth that most of the fleet was used to seeing from her. Her hands were folded neatly against her lap, her legs crossed almost casually at the knee.

Adama had to admit that ever since Kobol, and perhaps before, he had expended more than a token amount of effort appreciating Laura Roslin's graceful form. He had thought he had kept his studies covert as he could not afford his growing affection for her to distract either of them from the work that had to be done. And Laura was dying; she didn't have time for the attentions of a war hardened old man.

He'd tried desperately to bury his feelings but the reality was that the sicker she became, the more his emotions seemed to slip by his control.

So he had found himself kissing her, the velvet box containing his Admiral stars still in his hand the softness of the material paling in comparison to that of her lips. As brief as it was, she had responded and had given him a smile he had never seen her give anyone else. And he was hooked, worse than Tigh on ambrosia. Only Adama was far better at self-denial.

After her cure, she'd lost the election and the dismal reality of New Caprica had set in. There she was a school teacher, not a President, a healthy cancer survivor, not a dying woman. Time was no longer short and he had spent an entire day and night memorizing every curve of her body and every freckle on her soft skin. It was a heady kind of freedom they'd had then, a feeling they had never been able to recapture.

Then the Cylons came, turning her life into repeated torture and his into endless mind-numbing preparation for the rescue that had saved so many.

"Gods."

"What is it?" Tigh leaned further over his shoulder.

"It's a fake."

"I thought Gaeta ran it and it came up clean?" Tigh studied the photo, trying to see what Adama apparently saw.

"He's wrong. Laura told me what the Cylons did to her in detention." The truth was that he'd seen it. Shelley Godfrey had visited him for a second time on Galactica and had managed to show him what the Cylons had done to her in their holding facility on New Caprica.

Tigh took a few steps back from the desk, confused. He'd been there when she had escaped detention, had seen her looking her worst. Pain had kept her up nights and, having much the same problem, he would sit and talk with her. Every night she had asked him not to tell Adama what had happened to her. He had given his word and he had kept it. Another burden lifted when Adama said that she'd told him.

"She looked like hell," it came out as a harsh whisper, directed where he was looking at the floor. "Didn't tell 'em a damned thing."

Adama wished he had the time to ask what was behind the haunted look on Tigh's face but this couldn't wait. "Did you see her shoulder?"

Tigh sighed. "Yeah, bastards busted it pretty bad."

Adama indicated the photo on the desk. "Look again and tell me I'm wrong, Saul," he said quietly.

And there it was. Roslin was wearing that white blouse that hugged her body in all of the right places. The material was thin enough at the shoulder that he could easily tell that the photo was taken before New Caprica. Roslin's shoulder and upper arm had been black and badly swollen as the result of a dislocation and fracture at the hands of the skin jobs. Even though six weeks had passed, there was still enough scar tissue to render her shoulders uneven. In the photo, her shoulders were perfect.

"They don't have her."

"And we've wasted a hell of a lot of time." Adama wouldn't look at him. "Or she's dead."

"I don't think so; they lose all of their leverage if she dies."

"It could have been an accident." Adama said around the lump in his throat and the anger settling in his stomach. "Either way, it's time to send in the marines, bloodbath or not."

Adama's comm buzzed loudly. He was across the room in a couple of strides, snatching the phone from its cradle.

"Adama."

"Sir, you're needed in CIC. We have a message from the _Bounty_."

"On our way."

Supply Carrier Bounty

Ventilation System

1900 hrs.

Kara surprised herself at the sheer number of expletives that were on her tongue as she all but flew through the duct work. Not only had she lost the President, the crazy woman had nearly gotten herself killed saving the frak up that was Kara Thrace. President Roslin may have been a teacher but she had obviously failed math. There was no calculation she could think of that made a Viper pilot more important than the leader of civilization.

The terrorists probably wouldn't kill her, at least not right away. This meant she probably had time for the most risky of her escape plans. If she succeeded, she hoped Roslin would forgive her.

She knew she couldn't go far, there were still too many Colonists interested in the ducts. Satisfied that she was far enough away, she peered through grate after grate looking for … there. She pushed the grate out with her feet and dropped into their cabin, pocket knife in her hand.

The two women in the room screamed in shock and held to each other, backing away from Kara.

"Take whatever you want," the older woman said as if this happened every day. Conditions being as they were, maybe it did happen that often.

"It's ok. Really. Just stay quiet and I won't hurt you. I need some clothes."

Their captors had used the packed ship to their advantage. Well two could play at that game.

Continued in part 4


	4. Part 4 Quagmire

See Disclaimer in Part 1. Special thanks to SVR for rescuing this chapter ;)

Supply Carrier Bounty

Hallway leading to the bridge

When he pulled her out into the hallway; it was completely clear. He changed his grip, shifting his hand until it encircled her bicep and used it to push her forward. He had tucked the gun against the soft flesh above her hip, pressing harder than was necessary to indicate its presence. She ignored that pain and the throbbing in her shoulder, burying both in that well used corner of her mind where all her demons slept. He was a heavy man and the exertion was making him sweat, the acrid scent intensifying as they entered a lift at the end of the corridor.

She didn't see any use in talking to the man and knew that it would be impossible to overpower him even if she had any idea how to go about it. Time was what she needed now. Time for Adama to find a way to help her. _Time for Bill … _She took in a sharp breath at her mind's slip and was rewarded with the gun digging further into her.

For as long as she had known him, Bill Adama had done nothing but give. This she had realised only in hindsight. She remembered their first handshake, her grip weak and inadequate, his warm and strong. In those early days, he didn't speak much. She got a few hardened glares, a touch of professional courtesy and little else with which to build an opinion of the man. This was to be expected, trust was earned not given.

And so she trusted to her skills as a politician and observed how he treated the people under his command. Those unrelated by blood or shared pain were given the same support and, later she realised, love as those with whom he felt a deeper connection. Nothing expected in return.

Then Kara's viper went down. As frightening as it had been to watch him endanger the fleet in a bull headed attempt to rescue Kara long after her air had run out, she found she liked what it said about the man. She couldn't help but feel a desire to be loved in that way.

The desire she dismissed out of hand, not missing the irony as she reprimanded the man and his son for the utter selfishness of their actions. She rationalized that his feelings only made him weak, that they made him an unstable leader. And if he was unstable, then she had to be strong for both of them. If she became selfish and began to feel then humanity was truly lost.

Two bullets. Fired from the hand of a Cylon he'd called a daughter. They shattered his practiced, stoic façade and exposed the man beneath. And he came to her. With words of forgiveness, a new partnership and finally trust.

Then her cancer had become too painful, too immediate to be ignored. Her strength failed and she found his in its place. He gave it to her unconditionally and with it came something deeper. She'd seen it in his eyes when he watched over her bed on _Colonial One, _felt it in his touch when he supported her aching body long enough to help her drink a little water and had recognised what it was even before his lips found hers. He did love her and it was too late. Too damned late. She had nothing left with which to reciprocate, but he gave anyway and she loved him for it.

So, in the early days on New Caprica, free of pain, Cylons, and the burden of command she had given back. She made herself vulnerable, her feelings clear and when he'd tucked her body under his in the relative privacy of her tent, he gave all over again. Only this time she met him. Full measure.

Then the Cylons, pain like she'd never experienced before, and the most harrowing and risky rescue effort imaginable. The whole human race gambled on the strength of a single hand. In its wake she had pulled back, her presidency reinstated her ordeal too painful for him to bear. They had just started to open up to those feelings again when …

"Sit." They had entered what had to be this ship's version of CIC. It was sparsely manned. A single terrorist sat at a blinking console. The heavy man pushed her down onto a rickety office chair. A line of about ten colonists stood along one wall all looking at her with trepidation, whispering nervously among themselves. A third man, also masked, stood towards the far end of the row, weapon in hand.

The third man approached slowly, trading places with the heavy man. She tried to discern what his face would look like by studying the only things she could see. Rich dark eyes and a full mouth. He spoke quickly. "We're going to contact _Galactica_. You will speak only when spoken to. When prompted, you will read this statement." He placed a short type written note on the console before her. She was not surprised by what she read. "Do not attempt to refuse; for every five seconds you delay, we will shoot a colonist." A ripple of shock went through the line of Colonists. Protests were loud and shrill. The snap-click of a gun being loaded silenced them all. "Attempt to communicate anything other than what has been asked and we will shoot a colonist."

She tried to reassure the frightened faces with her eyes, the slight nod of her head. "I understand."

He flipped a switch on the comm board and spoke loudly. "_Galactica_, _Galactica_, this is the supply carrier _Bounty. _Respond. Repeat. _Galactica_, this is the _Bounty_. Respond."

A loud crackle of static then -

"_Bounty, Galactica. _Stand by for _Galactica_ actual." Dee's smooth voice.

"Adama."

"Listen very carefully. I have the President, her pilot and the four members of her security team. They are unharmed and will remain so as long as no one attempts to board this vessel. Stand by for a statement from the President."

_Liar! _Anger seared through her. All four security officers were dead. Starbuck was missing. She stared at the line of innocent humans as they stared at her. The heavy man had begun to count down five seconds with his fingers, his gun pressed against the temple of the first colonist in line. She was shaking

. Roslin clenched her fists so tightly that her nails broke skin, and started reading. "This is Laura Roslin, President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol." She worked to keep her voice neutral. "At this time, I would like to announce my formal resignation as President and appoint my successor, Vice President Thomas Zarek. He is to have the full support of the Quorum of Twelve and the Colonial Military."

The terrorist continued: "When we have confirmation that President Zarek has taken the oath of office, we will return the pilot and security team to _Galactica_. Laura Roslin, the citizen, will remain on the _Bounty_ as our guest. As long as there is no retaliation of any kind, she will be allowed to live out her days freely."

"That's unacceptable." Adama's voice slid over her senses again leaving warmth behind as surely as if he had touched her.

The terrorist's voice filled with spite. "You, who would fix an election and keep Cylons on your ship, will not lecture us on what is acceptable. We will execute a hostage every hour until we have confirmation. _Bounty _out."

Battlestar Galactica

Combat

"That was a mistake." Colonel Tigh stepped in beside Adama at the Dradis console. "They have to know we'd never agree to those terms."

Adama listened to Tigh and tried not to think about the missed opportunity that the faked photo represented. For an unknown period of time Laura, and probably Starbuck as well, had been free on that ship. If only he'd seen it sooner. The sound of her voice had started an ache in his stomach. He closed his eyes, pushing aside the guilt that had become his constant companion and pressed his fingers around the bridge of his nose. "None of it matters. We go in in less than an hour. Someone get me sickbay."

"Done." A petty officer handed him a phone.

"Life station. Ishay."

"Adama. I need Major Cottle, now."

"I'm sorry, sir, but he's in surgery. Can I help in any way?"

"I don't care if he's having a smoke with the Gods, I need him now. Make it happen. I'll be there in ten." Adama slammed down the receiver and focussed on Tigh.

"You have the watch. I'll be in Life station."

"Yes, sir." He pressed a ration bar into Adama's hand and added quietly. "You're not looking so good. Don't give Cottle a reason to keep you there."

Adama took the bar and Tigh considered the action a thank you.

Life Station

"Don't eat in here." Cottle was pissed. "I'm gonna have to scrub again. I hate scrubbing. What's so damned important?"

Adama shoved the half eaten bar into his pocket without bothering to rewrap it. "Can we use your office?" he asked already entering. He waited for Cottle to follow and shut the door behind him. "We have a problem."

"Obviously."

"You're aware of the situation with the President?"

"I heard she didn't return when she was supposed to. I've been in surgery the last three hours, so you'll have to enlighten me on the details."

"Doesn't matter. I've got a bunch of terrorists on a supply ship. They're holding the President, Starbuck and four members of Laura's security team. They've made demands but Lieutenant Gaeta has come forward with some troubling information."

Cottle hesitated, shook his head slightly. "I'm listening."

"Gaeta believes that the terrorists may be after Laura for information pertaining to the cure for her cancer."

"Don't call it a cure, Admiral. I've never seen a cure for cancer and I'm far from sure this isn't just an extended remission."

Adama paled a little. "Semantics. I need to know what's possible here. Could Laura's blood be used to cure others? Have you had time to study Baltar's research?"

Cottle shook his head. "Research? That's what you're calling those doodles of his? It's all in his addled brain. Sir, I'm sorry. I'm one of few doctors and there are more than forty thousand people to care for. New Caprica was insane; it should have been named New Bacteria or New Virus. I didn't have time for a decent smoke then and I still don't now."

"Anything you could tell me would be helpful."

Cottle rubbed an exceptionally clean hand over his mouth. "The hybrid Cylon antigens are a part of the President's blood chemistry, her very DNA. It's certainly not impossible that it could be used in others." He shook his head, his face contorting with distaste. "But I wouldn't try it. It was dangerous when we tried it in the first place. The recipient would be looking at convulsions, fever, dyspnea, hypotension, tachycardia … the same as for any whole blood transfusion. You could kill the patient as easily as save them. And that's not mentioning the nuclear bomb that'll go off in the fleet if people learn it's origin."

"Not impossible." Adama repeated.

"Glad you're not hard of hearing."

Adama ignored the comment. "Gaeta claims that Baltar traded the information to a man by the name of Karl Edom." He dropped the passenger manifest from the _Bounty _in front of Cottle and pointed to two names. "There is also a Henry Edom. Do you recognise either of those names?"

Cottle grunted. He walked past Adama and lifted a heavily water and mud stained box from where it sat behind his desk. "New Caprica. I tried to keep records as best as I could. If I treated either of them, it'll be in here. Look, I don't have time to go through these. My patient is stable, but I have to get back."

_I know someone with a lot of time on his hands. _"Don't let me keep you any longer."

"I won't." Cottle left the room. Adama hoisted the box and carried it out the door. He heard Cottle muttering a wide array of expletives as he worked to rescrub his hands and arms. Adama stopped the first officer he saw. "Take these to Lt. Gaeta's quarters." He grabbed the nearest comm phone and instructed the Lieutenant on what he was to do.

Supply Carrier Bounty

Sickbay

"Let her go." The man who spoke did not wear a mask and she struggled to place his face.

The heavy man released his sweaty grip and Laura tried to rub some feeling back into her arm. He had taken her to a medical bay, albeit a crude one. There were about ten empty beds, one of which was cordoned off in what seemed intended to be an operating room. Medical supplies that should have been still in their sterilized packaging were strewn about the few metal counters and trolleys that filled the rest of the space. The corridor outside had been eerily quiet. Men with guns, their faces covered, were standing at the room's two exits. Her eyes were drawn by the two empty isolettes in the far corner.

"What happened to them?" She addressed the man who had spoken. "The Alindas and their baby, were they ever even here?"

The man pressed his lips together and bowed his head. "The tape was old. When the Alinda's needed you, you were in no condition to help them." His voice was soft, the accent Piconian.

She folded her arms across her chest and regarded him warily. "What do you mean?"

"You were dying. The whole fleet was asked to pray for you and so they buried their sorrows and joined the voices in prayer. They never sent the tape. I doubt even they believed that their prayers would result in such a miracle." He had started collecting items from the counters. A needle. A length of inch thick rubber tubing. "Sophia died of pneumonia within months of arriving on New Caprica. After the Cylons arrived, Andreas took a more … drastic way out."

Laura felt sick. She used to complain that the news services on Caprica had always focussed on tragedy. Passenger ship accidents, kidnappings, the death of a child. Now there was never really any other type of news. She knew what was implied and she'd never been able to reconcile the idea of allowing people to commit suicide to further a cause, no matter how noble that cause seemed.

He started to move towards her. "Please, take your suit coat off and sit." He indicated a well worn chair that was positioned beside a metal trolley and against one of the beds. She glanced at it, quickly burying the nervousness in her stomach. When she didn't move he continued. "Please. Don't make me ask one of these men to help you. They're not the gentle sort."

In that moment, she recognised him.

"_Miss Roslin?" A man drew back his rain soaked hood as he stepped into the classroom tent._

_"Laura. Yes, over here," she called from where she had been picking stubby crayons off the sandy deposits that made for the schoolroom floor. By the time he made his way to her she had managed to stand._

_"I'm Karl, Henry Edom's father. I'm here to pick up his work."_

_Her gaze turned empathetic. "He's not feeling well again."_

_"Yes, ma'am. This respiratory infection that's going around, it's hit him pretty hard."_

_"I'm sorry to hear that," she said as she wrote the day's assignment on the back of a used list of supplies. "The class has been getting thinner and thinner."_

_He looked her up and down. "But I see their teacher's fine. I had brought you some tea." He set a few loose tea bags beside her on the table. Her nose picked up the slight scent of peppermint and it brought a smile to her face. "I can't believe you're still standing after sharing a tent with that many runny noses." He looked at her with an intensity that was a little unsettling._

_"So far so good." She smiled warmly, gathered the tea bags and pressed them back into his hand. "Save them for your son."_

_"You shouldn't have to work for nothing. No one should." He coughed into his sleeve, and then indicated the rain water that had begun to collect on her desk and in the sand. "I should be going, before I make a mess of your school."_

_"It's not work. Tell Henry to take his time with the assignment and that we're thinking about him."_

_He smiled then. "I will. Thanks, Laura."_

Henry had never been back. She figured it had been because of the Cylons. Many parents were too afraid to let their children out of their sight, even for school. Now she thought it may not have been as simple as that.

She glanced at the armed man nearest her and removed her suit jacket with deliberate slowness. She set it carefully on the lab bench beside her. "How's Henry?" She asked as she settled in the chair.

She had actually managed to startle him. "You remember."

"He's a lovely boy, although something of a class clown." She offered a small smile.

He nodded slowly. A wistful smile crossed his lips before he seemed to catch himself and it disappeared. "You know I always wondered, diseases spread faster and further than the sand and mud on that dreary rock. Yet I never saw you so much as cough. The only thing that ever seemed to hurt you was the Cylons." He slid a gentle hand over her shoulder. It was unnerving, like meeting a stalker you didn't know you had. He stepped back, removing his hand, a look of regret crossing his features. "Once you told the Quorum that you had cancer it didn't take long for the news to hit the fleet. We all watched as you started to waste away. All the religious, we prayed for you. And then … a miracle. The cancer disappears. Questions were asked, but no answers were given. Thank the Gods, we were told. Thank them for this miracle." His voice became cruel. "The last time I checked, Gaius Baltar was no God."

Laura struggled with her revulsion at the sound of Baltar's name. Her stomach dropped. The needles, the tubing, the bags, she suddenly realised what they were for. She had assumed that they wanted her because of her position.

"On that you have my complete agreement. You still haven't answered my question about Henry." Her only hope lay in her ability to keep this man talking. Kara would come for her. Adama would come for her. She just had to give them time.

"Henry … I suppose you were going to let him die too. Like your security man." For a moment, he looked distressed. "I should apologize for that."

Roslin's eyes flashed. "And that will make it … better?"

Karl shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "I was told we wouldn't have to do that, but I can't help the company I'm forced to keep. Though I suppose it's not all on me, you could have surrendered. His life was yours to save. But Laura Roslin doesn't have what? … the time? … the compassion? … to save anyone these days." He looked over his shoulder and addressed one of the thugs. "We're ready for Dr. Benson now."

"Right." One of them got up and left.

Roslin, used to listening carefully and watching for the subtleties of body language, noted an undercurrent of apprehension in Edom. A wariness that implied a lack of control, not of himself but of the situation. Something scared him.

_Just keep the conversation going. Kara's coming. Adama's coming._ "I'm sorry, but I don't understand," she said even though she was beginning to. "What does this have to do with your son?"

His expression softened. "Everything. You see the Cylons finally gave us something worthwhile. Something good." Karl gently lifted her hand at the wrist, turning it palm up. He ran his thumb over the bloodied crescent shaped marks her nails had made on her skin Letting go he put one hand on each of the metal armrests that framed her chair. He lowered his body until they were eye to eye. "It cost me a fortune in cigarettes to get it out of Baltar, but I know what's flowing in your veins.Henry doesn't need a President. He needs her cure. Cottle diagnosed him on New Caprica, said he couldn't be sure but that it looked like leukemia. Do you know how long it takes to die of leukemia if it's left untreated?"

Roslin struggled to make heads or tails of her emotions. Anger, fear, and empathy waged a quiet war for her attention. She managed a quiet "no."

"Three months. The Cylons couldn't treat him and Galactica and Pegasus were gone. He's in his last month. Dr. Benson says it's too late now."

"Where is he? Why isn't he here?"

"There's too many people on this ship, with too damn many viruses. He's confined to our cabin. In quarantine. And in pain. It's the way I always pictured him growing up." His expression turned cruel and Roslin wondered if he might hit her. He didn't. He did stand and back away from her.

"It isn't as simple as you think," she said in a measured tone, trying to calm him with her voice. She knew that boy's pain intimately and part of her wanted to bring them comfort. To hold the father and the son and tell them that she could take their pain away. She felt more strongly that she owed them the truth. "Baltar's cure is extremely dangerous. I nearly died. And for all we know it's temporary; the cancer could return as easily as not." Truly she felt horrible for him. Having to watch his child die of this terrible disease knowing that a cure was not only possible but within his reach. Part of her understood the lengths that he had been willing to go.

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't try." Karl's voice broke and he turned from her.

The door opened then and a middle aged man appeared in a well stained lab coat, the thug a few feet behind. Benson was a bit taken aback when he saw her in the chair, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. He looked at Karl.

"So you actually pulled it off."

Karl reached out and shook his hand. "Not in the way I would have liked. Please, I don't know how long we have, you have to get started."

Suppy Carrier Bounty

Passenger Cabins

Kara pushed her way down the crowded corridor, not having to fake her annoyance in the least. Dressed in a well worn shirt and slacks, she twisted the cap further down her head trying to forget about the yellow sweat stain she'd noticed when she put it on. Her progress was helped by the squeaky laundry cart that she was currently pushing into as many legs as she could, forging a path down the hallway. She traded expletives with a few colonists but tried to avoid any eyes. Her flight suit remained buried under a pile of exceptionally ripe clothing. On top of the pile she'd placed the fire emergency schematic she'd "borrowed" from the cabin she had so rudely entered.

Her first priority was to get a message to _Galactica_. She knew the alert fighters would be out there, she just had to get their attention.

She caught something dark and round coming at her head from an adjoining corridor. Reflex brought her arm up and she felt the comforting weight of a professional grade pyramid ball slap into her hand. The corridor filled with giggles as two young players left their game to collect the ball. The "court" was crude, just odds and ends really, but the children were happy, their faces red with exertion. Unable to resist, Kara tossed a perfect pass back. _At least somebody's having a good time here._ The corridor behind them ended abruptly. Kara looked at the schematic and verified that she had indeed reached the outer hull. She glanced along the row of space facing cabin doors, picked one and forced it. There was no one inside. Pyramid players and a lucky break, the day was finally starting to look up.

Space Outside the Supply Carrier Bounty

Viper Escort

"What the frak?"

"Hot Dog, what is it?" Razor's voice in his helmet.

"I'm not sure … no wait, I am."

"Make sense, man."

"Razor, can you see the view port in the top row, third from the end?" Hot Dog gestured at the view port from inside the cockpit of his viper. He watched Razor's head spin toward the carrier's hull.

"Yes, I see it. What the … you'd better contact Galactica."

Battlestar Galactica

Conference B

"How long are we going to let this go on?" Marshall Bagot, representative of Virgon, got up and began to pace the room. "The terrorists are demanding that we name Zarek President. We were considering this anyway and it would get some of our people back, I say we push Adama to do it."

"And give in? Encourage every other would be terrorist that they can have their way with this council?" Sarah Porter's voice was unusually sharp.

Bagot stopped and considered. "We're not giving in. We're making a choice to solidify the civilian government before the terrorists inflict any more damage. Roslin would never have read that statement voluntarily which means they can ask her to do anything. We would be bound to comply with her orders as long as authority remains with her."

"Why not encourage the Admiral to free them by force." Robin Wenutu, of Canceron, jabbed an index finger onto the desk. "Sometimes you have to take a risk. Yes, people will die and there's no guarantee of success. Such is the world we live in now. Our priority is to survive, to find a place where we can rebuild our civilization in peace. People have to understand that we will not tolerate threats. People have to see what happens to terrorists; I don't care if it's all over the news. It will discourage others."

"And you're willing to sacrifice the President and the other hostages?" Bagot studied Wenutu's face. "This civilization you speak of has to be built by the people who remain. And the Cylons are still out there. Can we risk losing someone like Laura Roslin? Like Kara Thrace?"

"We've survived the loss of billions, many of whom would have made a far better contribution to rebuilding society than those two." Wenutu replied. "We'll survive; we've done it so far."

"What about Earth?" All eyes went to Sarah Porter. "What if President Roslin is the prophet Pythia spoke of? She has already shown us that Earth is real. I've heard it said that even Kara Thrace has a special destiny. We give up on them and we could be giving up on Earth as well. It's too great a risk."

"Adama's never going to risk losing them. He drained more than half of our fuel reserves and ruined most of our Vipers to search for Starbuck and he wasn't frakking her." Safina Sanne of Leonis caused a wave of shock and dissent to fill the room.

Marshall Bagot held up two hands. "This doesn't need to get personal. We all know better. I still say our best chance is to go ahead and put Zarek in charge. It saves lives and it buys us time. I, for one, am signing this." He scooped up the folder containing the documents for official transfer of the powers of the President. "I suggest you all seriously consider joining me."

"I don't trust Zarek. He's got a lot of blood on his hands." Wenutu countered.

"Better his than ours."

When Zarek returned from the press room twenty minutes later he found the folder at his place at the table. Opening it, his eyes roved over the eight signatures on the paper. He took a deep breath, closing the folder and rising to his feet. "Thank you, you've made a brave decision. This will save a lot of unnecessary bloodshed. I'll present it to the Admiral." He walked the room, shaking the hands that were offered him.

Battlestar Galactica

Situation Room

"Have all four assault teams prepped and ready. When I give the order, I don't want any delays." Admiral Adama addressed his son. He walked over to Apollo and added under his breath. "Bring them home."

Apollo and the captain of the marine guard saluted crisply and left the room. Playa took the opportunity to stand.

"Sir, the official record seems to be missing time codes 1800 to 1815. You had said-"

"We had some technical difficulties." Adama said irritably, brushing by her as he saw Zarek approaching. "Lt. Gaeta assures me that they are fixed. Sit or leave, one or the other. " She sat.

Zarek entered the room warily, a crisp brown folder in his hands. The Admiral looked anything but pleased to see him. He did not expect a handshake this time and did not get one. "I know what you're thinking, Admiral," he began carefully.

"I doubt it," Adama snapped, his previous attempts at decorum gone from his voice.

Zarek sniffed, amused. "Point taken." He joined Adama at the strategy board and set the open folder on top of the schematic of the _Bounty_. "I did some checking, like you asked. There are a lot of names here."

Adama was surprised to see that the folder contained the passenger manifest for the _Bounty. _Four names were highlighted in yellow. "Who are they?"

"These four are known aliases for the following former inmates." Zarek slid the pages of the manifest aside to reveal the police records of four former residents of the _Astral Queen_. "I guess this is what happens when all records of a civilization are destroyed. People can start new lives just by changing their names. Throw in the pure chaos of the exodus from New Caprica and a colonist could end up anywhere. Smart ones could end up together with a purpose. I can't tell you if any of these men are involved but Soma is a brilliant software designer and a nasty hacker, the other three are your basic thugs. Assaults, theft, fraud, mostly trying to get money for drugs and other vices. Helpful?" Zarek looked expectantly at Adama.

"Can I borrow these?" Adama scooped up the records of the four former inmates, taking the time to study each of their mug shots. Someone had manipulated that photo of Laura, Soma seemed an excellent candidate.

"By all means."

Adama left the room briefly to hand the photos to the nearest enlisted man. He ordered that the man copy the photos and get them to Apollo's assault teams as quickly as humanly possible. When he turned back to the room he could see that Zarek had something else on his mind.

"You're planning to attack them, aren't you?"

"We don't negotiate with terrorists."

"Yes, I know, I have a little experience with that." Zarek had engineered a hostage situation on the _Astral Queen _just over two years ago. If not for the son of the man in front of him, he would have been the victim of a sniper's bullet. "This just feels wrong. Your son has already indicated that the ship is overcrowded. You're betting Laura's life that they won't kill her at the first sight of a marine. I don't think I could do that."

_Stop calling her Laura. _"It's not your decision to make."

"No, you're right of course. But there is something you should know." He pulled the final paper out from the folder. "I have the support of the majority of the Quorum. The people have spoken through their duly elected representatives. Which brings us to you." He set a pen next to the open folder. "Don't sign and you'll show them that the military is the one true power in this fleet, that their voices mean nothing." Adama's face was unreadable. "Think about it, but don't think too long. Something tells me there's more here than we can see."

_And just what is it that I'm not seeing? What are you not telling me? Prick. _"Are we done here?" Adama hadn't even looked at the page. Just then, the comm buzzed loudly. Adama crossed the room happy to have an excuse to put distance between him and Zarek.

_"_Adama."

_"_Sir," Dualla's voice. "We're receiving a message from Hot Dog. It's Starbuck …"

Continued in part 5.


	5. Part 5 Critical Mass

See Disclaimer in Part 1. Huge thanks to SVR for a kick ass beta on this one. Reveiws are joy - thanks to all those who've left them!

Battlestar Galactica

Combat.

"_Galactica_, Hot Dog. Receiving a message via signal code. Someone's using the lights in the one of the passenger cabins. Relaying the message now." Dualla acknowledged Hot Dog and turned to the Admiral.

"Sir, message relay from Hot Dog in emergency signal code. Reads: _SAR Raptor _break _one hour _break _starboard flank _break _bring in the cat _break. Message repeats." Dualla almost smiled. "Hot Dog says his signal code isn't up to spec but Razor is verifying, sir."

Starbuck. His girl was alive and working one of her hopefully more brilliant than crazy plans. He looked at Dee. "Inform Apollo, skids up in forty minutes. Launch a search and rescue raptor immediately."

"Yes, sir."

Supply Carrier Bounty

Passenger decks

With so many colonists having fled New Caprica on any available ship, no one reacted to an unfamiliar face. Kara had found that if she kept to her own business, she had free roam of the ship. The hardest part was trying not to look rushed.

"Laundry's that way." A short, heavy set woman was pointing in the opposite direction.

Kara smiled self consciously. "Actually, I was told to go to the maintenance and hanger bays to, you know, pick up the knuckle draggers' stuff."

"You haven't been here very long have you?" Her eyes sparkled.

"No. I just wanted off that rock. I didn't care what ship."

"Me neither. Hanger deck's four levels below just follow the smell. Jet fuel and body odour, the combination is unmistakeable."

"Thanks."

A single masked guard patrolled the lower hanger deck. She watched him carefully, noted that he never strayed more than two metres from the Raptor. The Raptor canopy had not repaired itself in her absence and from what she could see, the consoles appeared damaged. She waited a few minutes longer, brain screaming at her that she couldn't afford the time, to be sure that no more guards stalked the area. Satisfied, she pushed the cart straight into the heart of the hanger bay.

"You there." He came at her quickly. "What are you doing?" His voice echoed in the space.

Kara stopped just short of hitting him with the cart. She circled it until she was beside him.

"I was told to walk the maintenance and hanger bays and pick up coveralls, rags, that sort of thing. I have the work order right here."

Before he could reply or reach to stop her, Kara leaned into the laundry bin and grabbed the first thing she laid her hands on. She swung her body upward, turned and pulled the sweat stained T-shirt across the face and behind the head of the guard beside her. His weapon clattered to the floor as he reached for his face with both hands. Now behind him, she used her grip on the edges of the shirt to jerk him backwards and then jammed her knee up into the small of his back.

Air left his lungs in a huff, his hips bucked upwards and she stepped back leaving him space to slam onto the floor on his back. She stepped by him and reached for the gun.

In one fluid motion he rolled, pivoted around a hand on the concrete and swept his leg across both of hers. She landed in a heap beside him but managed to have the presence of mind to kick the gun away before he could grab it.

He was up first and after it, making long strides across the bay. She tore after him, threw her body at his as he slowed to pick up the gun. She ended up on his back, arms crossed in front of his neck. Her momentum pushed them both to the floor. She fought to keep her grip, adjusted it carefully. Her wounded arm pulsed with pain.

"Too bad for you I'm not your average military hack." She had him in a perfect rear strangle hold. Her right wrist bone compressed his windpipe, her right hand snug in her left elbow, her left hand secured behind his head. "My mother was a freak show. Taught me a few things."

Somehow he managed to stand with her still on his back. He staggered, unable to breathe, and then used his remaining strength to slam her back into the bulkhead.

"Ahh!" she yelled at the pain as he did it a second time but concentrated only on tightening her grip. The third time he faltered, one knee hit the ground. She took the sign of weakness for what it was and let him go. She had the gun against his temple before he had a chance to fill his lungs.

Pushing him onto his back she knelt on his chest. She allowed him only shallow sips of air. "The President, where is she?"

She felt his chest push against her leg as he struggled for air. "Don't … know"

Frustrated and out of time she shot him in the shoulder. He arched into her and yelped in pain. "Tell me what I want to know or next time, I shoot something more sensitive."

He groaned. A red pool formed under his shoulder and he wasted no more time. "Medical bay. Deck eight. Won't do any good though," he almost smiled. "She's dead by now."

"We'll see about that, move." She forced him into a nearby storage room and used some electrical wiring to secure his hands and feet. She examined his wound. "Bullet went right through. You'll live." She took a minute to secure some clean rags around it before she left him.

She went straight to the Raptor. The entire length of the comm., navigation and ECO consoles were fried. Cockpit glass was everywhere. She bloodied her hands collecting what she needed and then shoved it all unceremoniously into the laundry bin. She adjusted enough clothing to conceal everything and set a brisk pace out of the bay.

_It's not too late. It's not too late. _She repeated the mantra to herself and to whichever Gods took the time to listen.

Space Outside The _Bounty_

_30 minutes before first colonist scheduled to be executed._

_"Galactica, _this is Search and Rescue One. We have visual contact with the _Bounty. _Approaching her starboard flank. Matching course and speed."

"Roger, SAR one, keep your eyes open."

"Mark one eyeball, acknowledged."

_10 minutes before first colonist scheduled to be executed…_

Four raptors clung to the _Bounty_ like tics on a dog. A fifth stalked its starboard flank. The lumbering carrier, her Dradis and transmissions jammed, slid silently through space.

"_Galactica, _Apollo. All four Raptors in position. We have soft seal. Pressurizing."

"Acknowledged, Apollo. Good hunting."

Deck 8

Ventilation ducts.

Kara crawled gingerly through the duct work, the entire length of her back tender and aching. She breathed through the pain and then managed to bury it, her mind focussed on the cold metal of the gun in her hand and the goal that came ever closer as she passed room after room. She knew she was cutting it close. If Adama had gotten her message the ship would be crawling with marines in a matter of minutes. And when that happened, every terrorist left alive would be gunning for Roslin. She had to be gone before then. A familiar voice halted her progress and she instinctively pressed her stomach flat against the metal of the duct and froze in place. She scanned the room though the mesh of the grate.

"…hurts … have a meeting soon …"

"She isn't making any sense." A blond haired man obstructed her view of Roslin.

"…when have results? …"

"She's in shock." A man, who was obviously a doctor or at the very least dressed as one, folded his arms across his chest.

"She's in pain. Look, that's got to be enough." Kara thought she saw tears begin to form in the blond man's eyes. "I appreciate what you did for my son … Gods …" he was crying openly now, "but please," his gaze went from the doctor to the two other armed men in the room, "you didn't say anything about killing her."

"You have what you wanted." The doctor walked over to one of the armed guards. "Watch them both. I'm going to check on the boy."

"Anthony, please!" The blond man implored as an armed guard pushed him back from where Roslin was lying. When he moved, Kara bit down hard on her lip to prevent a gasp from slipping past. Really, it looked like a simple academy blood drive except for the paleness of Roslin's skin, the way she hovered at the edge of consciousness, her breathing rapid and uneven.

She had to move now.

Kara forced her mind to quiet and her muscles to work slowly as she eased the grate cover off and set it beside her. She calmed her breathing, forced her heart rate to slow and brought the gun to eye level. She braced her arms and prepared to absorb the kickback from the gun. _One shot for the man by the bed, turn to the right, one shot for the man by the door. _She practised the motions before taking a last breath, her finger light on the trigger.

_First shot. _The man by the bed took a kill shot through his chest and fell back. The blond man dove behind a lab bench. The other armed man stood; his gun arm came up to fire.

_Second shot. _She hit him in the shoulder, the momentum of the bullet twisted his body violently, and he landed on his back on the floor. Kara hurled her body feet first through the grate. She fell the few feet to the floor, her weaker knee wobbled as her legs absorbed the force of her landing. The blond man was nowhere to be seen, but she did catch sight of the man she'd injured as he tried get a clear shot at Roslin.

_No frakkin' way. _She put two more bullets into him and he fell, weapon tumbling from his hands. She saw an arm shoot out from behind the lab bench and towards the gun. She lunged forward, crushing the hand and the gun under her foot.

"Ahhh!" The blond haired man pulled his hand free and pressed it protectively against his midsection. She grabbed him by the shirt and pulled a roll of tape she from a nearby bin. She bound his hands and feet together.

"What the frak were you doing?" She screamed into his ear.

"I'm sorry … I'm so sorry..." he sputtered as he felt her gun against his forehead. "You don't have time for me; you need to help her." Kara brought the grip of the gun down hard on the man's temple and he slumped over. She slipped the gun into waistband of her pants and went to Roslin.

"… happening … don't … where …"

Kara met her panicked gaze. "Shh … it's ok. You're getting out of here." She swallowed thickly as she removed the rubber tubing where it compressed Roslin's bicep and pulled the needle from the President's arm. A weak trail of blood snaked down her pale skin. She took the bag of Roslin's blood from where it sat on the bed, sealed it and put it in the pocket of her shirt. She then tore a strip off the bedding and wrapped it carefully around Roslin's arm. Her skin was cold and clammy. "Can you get up?" she asked quietly, desperate to keep moving.

"… think so… don't … know."

Kara helped Roslin to her feet and staggered as the older woman leaned into her with nearly her full weight. Kara pulled Roslin's unbandaged arm around her shoulders and held it there with her hand. She wrapped her other arm around Roslin's waist.

"Come on, we don't have far to go."

"Where? …" Roslin swayed into her as gravity pulled more blood away from her brain and Kara struggled to keep her up; her back protested painfully. She forced them both forward.

"Hey, Laura … Laura!" Kara nearly shouted, afraid Roslin was about to pass out. When Roslin shook her head and turned it towards her, Kara continued as she kept them moving. "Remember the dinner on New Caprica?"

Roslin slurred something that was not quite intelligible but sounded affirmative.

Kara smiled. "Gods, I was stupid, inviting the Admiral to dinner. I don't cook. I have to confess, I only invited you so that you would help me. With the food … and with him."

Roslin giggled slightly beside her as she half carried her down the hallway.

"Remember, we thought we would make the food authentic. Use only native ingredients." She guided Roslin to the floor beside where she had left the laundry cart. She kept talking as she pulled her now complete and repaired flight suit from the cart. "We thought we were soooo smart." It was awkward, trying to get Roslin into the suit but her body was weak, pliant and Kara managed. She was alarmed by how warm the President's skin had become. Pulling the bag of blood from her pocket she placed it on Roslin's chest and sealed the suit around it. "The stew tasted like the inside of a Viper engine."

"…mmm hmm …pretended … we liked it."

"The Admiral ate half the bowl before we told him. I think I still have that stuff in my nose, I laughed so hard."

"… still got a really nice … thank you … later on." Kara blushed at the look on Roslin's face.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that." She lifted the helmet.

Her tone may have been light but the truth was she was scared. Roslin was looking worse than when she'd first carried her from the medical bay and what she was about to go through was not going to help. Kara had seen shock before and knew the window of time was narrow. _Galactica_'s marines would not be sufficient to secure the _Bounty. _Those two facts left no other options. Roslin had to go. Now. She couldn't help thinking how pissed the Old Man would be that she hadn't done a better job.

She heard the ship groan, a muffled shriek of tearing metal. Marines were cutting through the hull.

"Ok," she took a calming breath. "Laura, look at me." She did. "The weight on your back is an air tank. I'm going to seal the helmet and pressurize the suit."

"What …"

"There's no good way to put this, so I'm just going to say it. You're going out the airlock. The Admiral has a search and rescue raptor waiting. It's going to be one hell of a ride, but you're going home." She could hear muffled voices, screams, and the tap tap tap of gunfire.

"…didn't just hear the word airlock…no…"

"Just keep your eyes on me. Try to stand, you don't want to damage the suit on the way out." Kara sealed the helmet and pressurized the suit. She gave Laura's gloved hand a reassuring squeeze and helped her up. Still supporting most of the older woman's weight, she held on until she felt Laura find her balance and then left her with her back facing the outer airlock doors. They kept eye contact as Kara sealed her side of the lock. She nodded, looked straight into Laura's wildly panicked gaze and gave her a strong thumbs up.

Laura closed her eyes, trying to ignore the loud rasping of her own breath in the tiny space of the helmet. _If this was the Gods' way of exacting penance for her previous indiscretions with airlocks, she would have to seriously reconsider her role as their prophet._

There was a metallic shriek and she felt a terrible pull on her entire body. Her legs and arms were thrown forward, her body folded as she followed the stream of air out into the blackness beyond the ship. Her foot bounced off the edge of the lock which sent her body into a slow, nauseating spin that she was powerless to stop.

The staccato rhythm of her breathing echoed through the helmet and she found she lost all sense of her body position. Her inner ear, robbed of gravity, sent addled messages to her brain. She had only one clear thought: _I'm going to throw up. _

She closed her eyes, trying to get relief from the spinning stars. It was then that she felt the bump. Something grabbed her arm, steadied her gentle spin. She became aware of a deck under her feet before she collapsed, the metal rushing up to meet her exhausted frame. The jolt of hitting the floor brought her back towards consciousness and she felt hands reaching to remove the helmet. They were almost too late as it was barely off when she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the deck plating of the raptor. Someone reached out and kept her from slumping into it and she became aware of voices.

"She's in shock."

"Get that suit off of her."

"Someone get this on ice." A small weight left her chest and she felt hands pulling the suit from her body.

"We need to start an IV."

"Madam President? Can you hear me? Can you tell us what's wrong?"

She tried to speak but managed little more than a gurgle. She was cold. So cold. The last thing she heard was, "_Galactica_, Search and Rescue One. Prophet is aboard. Repeat, Prophet is aboard. Negative on Jupiter and the Moons."

Supply Carrier Bounty

Sickbay

Kara reluctantly turned from the slowly spinning form of the President of the Twelve Colonies. She was in the Gods hands. The only way to help her now was to make sure her captor got his due.

Armed men turned the corner and raced down the hallway. She ducked behind the cover of the laundry bin, stared down at her bare feet and tried not to breathe. A door opened.

"Where the frak is she?" She heard gasps and more swearing. "What happened?"

Kara couldn't hear the response.

"Where'd they go?"

A muffled answer.

"What? Frak, Karl, this is a frakkin' mess. You made it, you can lie in it." A pause. "I've got a bullet for that bitch they call the President. If we can't find her, it'll be for you."

Then they were back in the hallway. They cursed, slammed doors.

Judging by the still distant and muffled sound of gunfire, the marines' progress was slow.

When the terrorists entered a room further down the corridor, Kara made her move. She slipped quietly back into the medical bay. The blond haired man, Karl, was on the floor near a supply trolley. He feverishly rubbed the tape securing his wrists on one of its thin metal legs. He saw her and swore.

The man she'd shot by Roslin's bed had bled all over the floor. Kara skirted the red pool and brought her gun to Karl's neck. She pulled her pocket knife with her free hand and sliced through the tape securing his legs.

"Get up."

He scanned the room as she hauled him to his feet. She winced.

"Where's the President?" He asked.

Kara ignored him.

"Walk." She forced him toward a row of storage cabinets at the back of the room and opened the nearest one. She got in with him, their bodies pressed tightly in the small space. His back to her front. She adjusted her grip on him and positioned the mouth of the gun under his chin. Closing the doors from inside, she focussed on the limited view provided by the slight space between them.

"What are we doing?" He hissed.

"Waiting."

It was a long wait. Terrorists had entered the room several times looking for the President. They removed the bodies of their fallen comrades. By the time the marines breached the room, Kara was drenched in sweat. Her legs and arms shook with fatigue. Karl, who seemed resigned to his fate, had not struggled. She couldn't help thinking that if she'd holed up here with Roslin; the President would probably have died in her arms. She shook her head sharply to clear the thought and opened the cabinet doors.

They didn't shoot.

"Drop it," ordered the nearest marine. Kara thumbed the safety on and tossed the gun towards them, glad when they pulled Karl off of her. An intimately familiar marine helped her stand.

"What took you so long?" Her grin was unsteady.

Lee, his face pale and his eyes haunted, told her what a "frakking nightmare" the op had become. Blind corners. Ambushes. Terrorists shooting amid crowds of civilians. She was silent as he updated _Galactica._

"SAR one recovered the President." He gave her a grateful nod. "Report."

"The President's security officers are all dead. My raptor is scrap. And the Admiral's going to want that one." She pointed at Edom.

Lee relayed the information and put a hand on her shoulder. "We gotta move … it's going to be a helluva trip back to the Raptor."

Battlestar Galactica

Life station

"It's hard to say." Adama actually detected a hint of gentleness in Cottle's voice. It was unnerving; the doctor's unusual attempt at empathy meant only one thing. The news was bad. "Blood loss was considerable. I've stabilized her for now but there's a complication. Her body is used to the hybrid red blood cells; in fact it may have become dependent on them. The concentration is so low right now that infection has set in. Her first in a very long time. I'm -"

"Bottom line." Adama cut him off, raw emotion in his voice. As hard as he tried, he could not focus on Cottle's words. He had no patience for a long winded medical explanation of Laura's condition. Not now. He felt Cottle watching him as he reached down and swept a lock of damp auburn hair from her forehead. His fingers brushed her soft, heat saturated skin.

The doctor didn't respond until Adama brought his eyes back to the man's face.

"I've done what I can. The next few hours will be telling. Either she'll improve or she won't."

The Admiral's only response was the slight vibration of his hand where it was still threaded in her hair. He felt Cottle's hand on his shoulder briefly before the doctor turned to leave.

"She's burning up." Adama said finally. "Shouldn't you do something about the fever?"

Cottle looked about to say something sarcastic. Instead he said simply, "The fever is productive for now."

"Lee's back. I can't stay." Adama, couldn't, didn't look up.

"There's nothing more you can do here."

Adama leaned over into the waves of unsettling warmth that radiated from her skin. He found he didn't care if Cottle watched as he placed a single, soft, kiss on her forehead.

Standing slowly, he finally turned to Cottle. "If there's any change, anything at all, you contact CIC."

"Yes, sir," he replied to the Admiral's back as he strode purposefully through the hatch.

Battlestar Galactica

Brig

Adama rarely did anything without careful thought and precise preparation. At this moment, he had done neither. He strode into the brig, his anger barely in check. The marines jumped to their feet and saluted.

"Get it open," he ordered the captain of the guard, his hand slicing through the air like a knife, returning their salutes.

"Yes, sir." The marines drew back the bars of Karl Edom's cell and Adama focused his attention on the man within.

"Leave us." He listened, never taking his eyes from his prisoner, and waited until he heard the distinctive clang of the outer hatch. In two steps, he had Karl Edom by the neck. He used his forward momentum to shove the man into the bulkhead behind him. Adama brought his face so close to Karl's that he spat on him as he talked.

"You should be the one to die." He tightened his grip, feeling the man's larynx begin to compress. "No one's gonna care. You've almost killed the only person in the universe that I have to answer to. And it's 'cause of her that I have to do this." He changed his grip slightly, channelling his rage into his arm as he used his grip on the man's neck to throw him with brutal force to the floor.

Karl gasped his throat spasmed painfully after being released. Clutching it with his left hand, he tried to force air back into his lungs. His vision was fogged, his brain jostled by the impact with the cell floor. He couldn't seem to stop coughing. He realised, with a depth of feeling that shocked him, that Laura Roslin had just saved his life.

Adama stood nearby, his fists clenched painfully. He forced himself to stay rooted to the floor. He hadn't felt fury like this since Leoben on Ragnar and if he wasn't careful, this situation would end the same way. He was keenly aware of eyes on him as the three terrorists in the nearby cells pressed their faces against the bars.

Karl managed a crawl, pulling away from Adama until he came in contact with the furthest bulkhead. He settled there, his back against the cool metal, his head between his knees. He tried his voice, the result a wet sounding rasp.

"Wouldn't you have done the same thing?" Adama moved only his head, the full intensity of his gaze now on Karl's lowered head. He watched as Karl slowly met his eyes. "If it meant saving Zak? Or Lee? I didn't want to hurt her. Honestly, I didn't." Tears of pain mixed with tears of regret. "This war's cost me everything. My wife. My family. Friends. But the Gods left me Henry." He exhaled sharply, the sound muffled as he wiped at his face and nose. "He's everything to me … everything. Then Cottle tells me he's going to die. I couldn't accept it. I won't." He extended an open hand to Adama. "You're a father. Wouldn't you trade her for your son?"

Adama didn't move, the sharp tang of bile in the back of his throat. A small repeating spasm in his cheek the only sign that he had heard what was said. His voice was deathly quiet. "Three security officers, shot in cold blood. One unarmed man executed. Seven of your terrorist _friends_ dead." His voice broke under the weight of the people lost. "Fifteen … fifteen civilians gone. Somebody's wife. Somebody's family. Somebody's friends. Gone."

Karl squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming freely now. "It wasn't supposed to be that way. They told me no one would be hurt." He indicated the terrorists in the other cells. "But the bodies started piling up and they didn't care. They got what they wanted and then decided to kill her. To make room for Zarek." The terrorists suddenly became fascinated by the inside of their cells. Karl looked up at the watery blur that was the Admiral. "Your pilot didn't surrender. Your President wouldn't come out of hiding to save her own man. You boarded my ship; your marines shot some of those people. I'll take responsibility for the pain _I _caused. Don't blame me for things I couldn't control."

Adama was across the room in seconds. His hand gripped Karl under the chin, his fingers slid through the thick moisture soaking his skin. He brought his face inches from Karl's and yelled, "And none of it happens, you deluded son of a bitch, if you didn't lure the President onto your ship." He threw the man back to the floor and paused to gain control of his voice. "If you had just accepted that it was Henry's time …you speak of the Gods like you're a religious man. Why didn't you act like one?"

Karl rolled, sat up and spat back: "And when it was Laura Roslin's time? What did you do, Admiral?" He stood, faced Adama eye to eye and lowered his voice. "You didn't accept it. You let Gaius Baltar shoot her up with the blood of a frakking Cylon. And it saved her. Just like it saved Henry." He paused and searched Adama's face. "Are we so different, you and me?"

There was no warning. Adama's fist spun Edom and drove him to the groundHe got to hands and knees; blood streamed from his nose. Adama walked slowly towards him, each footfall echoing in the small space. He slowly squatted down, his forearms settled on his upper thighs and he leaned towards Karl's ear. "You're going to rot here. If the President dies, so will you." He stood. "I'll do it myself."

Karl squeezed the bridge of his nose with his good hand and tried to staunch the flow of blood. "I don't care. My son is alive, nothing else matters." He heard Adama cross the floor, flinched at the clang as the bars slammed shut. When the Admiral had taken a few steps he offered: "They took more blood than I needed, than you recovered. It's perishable. Whatever they're planning, it'll happen soon."

Adama turned back and added "Captain Thrace will be in to see you soon. You can tell her everything you know, including the names of everyone involved."

He clutched the wrapping on the broken fingers of his right hand. "That's not necessary; I've told you everything I know. Please."

His only answer was the clang of the hatch.

Kara hated Life Station. Everything about it reminded her of the unparalleled frustration of her time spent there. And today it reminded her of failure. True, she had managed to get Laura off of the _Bounty_ but the damage was already done.

She saw the surprise on Cottle's face as she approached the President's isolation unit. "Never thought I'd see the day. Kara Thrace in Life Station. Voluntarily." He was shaking his head, cigarette balanced precariously on his lower lip. It took all of her will power not to knock it off his face.

"Nice," she replied sarcastically. "Can I see her?" She crossed her arms under her chest and indicated Laura's prone form with her chin.

"I suppose it won't hurt though if she wakes up I doubt you'll find her very coherent. Sanitize your hands and keep it short."

"I'm not planning on waking her up."

Starbuck looked to him like she was mentally trying to will him away from her. "Good," he said turning away. "Sometimes I think this is the only place she gets any rest at all." He shuffled away towards his office and thought he heard Starbuck exhale in relief.

Her hands cleansed, she gave a nod to Laura's security as she parted the heavy transparent curtains that isolated the President from the rest of the patients. She took a few steps towards the bed, even more nervous and awkward than with Cottle. Laura appeared asleep. There was a chair near the bed, likely left by the Admiral. She didn't sit.

Kara took a deep breath, reached out and slid her fingers under Laura's. Her skin radiated warmth. Kara couldn't keep herself from noting the puncture wounds that dotted the skin of her arm. Blood had seeped into the surrounding tissue marring her arm with an angry patch of mottled bruising that reminded Kara of the mess she'd made of a simple assignment. She forced her eyes to Laura's face.

"Um …" she started. Why was her throat so thick? "Listen, I'm sorry … I screwed up. You … uh …you deserved better than this." _Some frakkin' rescue. _Unconsciously she started to fidget with Laura's fingers. There was something else she had to say. Something that she couldn't get past. It didn't matter that Laura probably wouldn't hear it. "What you did … stepping in front of that guy … that was stupid. I'm not -"

_worth it._

_Why was it so Gods damned hard to say?_ She coughed nervously and pushed out "One day I'm gonna be to slow … or too drunk and it'll be game over. People like me don't make it to the happy ending." She considered that for a moment, considered what Laura had told her about Pythia and her role in the search for Earth and squeezed Laura's hand gently. "Well, maybe we have that in common." She blinked. She looked at the older woman's hand in hers and wondered if this was what it would have been like to sit by her mother when she died. No. No failure of Kara's had led to her mother's cancer. And Laura was definitely not Socrata. The last thought made her smile. "And, yeah, sorry about the airlock. Not one of my better ideas. When you get better, you can come kick my ass."

Kara stood, gently letting go of Laura's hand. When she turned she was taken aback by the familiar form of the Fleet Admiral standing just inside the curtain. _How long has he been there? How much did he hear?_ She recovered quickly, snapping easily to attention.

"As you were," he said warmly. "How's she doing?" She watched his face soften as his gaze settled on Laura.

"Fever's pretty bad but she looks comfortable enough. She snores." _Though you probably already know that. _Kara flashed a quick smile. "Cottle can tell you more than I can."

"I'm sure. Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Her shift had started half an hour ago. "Damn, sorry, sir."

"I'll take your apology under advisement." As she went to leave, Adama felt her grab his forearm. She looked at him, more serious that he thought possible for Kara Thrace. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You did good, Kara."

"Take care of her," she said simply.

"Always," he found himself saying. Kara smiled and left them alone.

Continued in part 6.


	6. Part 6 Fallout

See disclaimer part 1. Here we reach the end of the tale. Sorry it took a little long; I had some serious trouble posting this here. Thanks to SVR for another amazing beta.

Battlestar Galactica

Life Station

Eight hours later.

It was late. An eerie silence had settled over Life Station. The stillness was interrupted only by soft beeps and whirs that were evidence to beating hearts and flowing blood. Laura's security guard sat in a metal chair outside the curtain surrounding her bed, his eyes alert and his body the picture of neatly coiled strength.

Adama leaned over him, asked him quietly but not without authority if he would take a break. He just wanted a little time alone. With her.

"Five minutes, sir." The security guard left without further comment, apparently satisfied that the Admiral of the Fleet was an adequate replacement.

Opening the curtain he stepped through and for a moment just stood beside the bed. He watched the gentle movement of her chest as it rose and fell. He closed his eyes and listened, letting the sound of her breathing chase away his doubts. His fear.

"Hey," he said quietly and folded her slender hand into his much larger one. He ignored how limp her hand felt, how there was no reaction to his slightly sweaty grip. But there was something. His breath caught. Nervousness knotted his stomach as he noticed that her skin was cool. His eyes flew to the monitors beside the bed. Respiration normal. Heart rate normal.

As he leaned over her, he felt an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his mostly healed gunshot wounds. The waves of heat were gone. Her breath puffed over his skin as he brought his lips to hers.

He had meant to kiss her lightly, quickly but felt a very different heat bleed a path from his heart to regions lower as her lips moved against his mouth. He felt her other hand as it lit feather light on his shoulder and discouraged him from pulling away. The kiss was the faintest of touches, soft and chaste. Nothing like what they'd shared on New Caprica. It did, however, fill his heart with the same uncomplicated joy. He smiled into the kiss and relief flooded his body. As he felt her answering smile, he finally pushed away. Her weary green eyes looked back at him from under heavy lids. Her hand dropped from his shoulder and she smiled weakly.

"Hey." Her voice was like sandpaper scratching over splintered wood. She laced her fingers through his and her eyes fell closed again.

He sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the glass of water that sat on a nearby table; condensation slipped over his fingers. He placed a warm hand against her cheek, her eyes slid open and he helped her sit up. He brought the glass to her cracked lips.

"Hey … slowly," he said chuckling quietly at her eagerness. "We don't want a repeat of the incident on the Raptor."

"Hmm? … oh … no …" she looked sheepish. He gently wiped away the water that had dribbled down her chin and eased her body back down. "You okay?" She asked, staring at a spot by his right shoulder. He followed her gaze and found the stain on his uniform. Edom's blood. He had been so distracted, he'd forgotten to change.

"Ask me again sometime. How're you feeling?"

She frowned slightly but didn't push him. "Better than I probably look." The water had smoothed her voice a little. "But I'm so tired I don't even want to breathe."

"Probably isn't a good idea to stop." _You look beautiful. _She was pale, sweaty, and her hair was matted to her head. None of it mattered. He gave her a wide grin and her lips curled upward in response. Her eyes told him what she was too tired to say. "But you don't have to talk." He stood as he noticed the security man return but didn't let go of her hand. "Get some rest, I'll deal with Cottle."

She looked at him then, a question in her murky gaze and he wondered when they had become so connected. He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. "Yeah … I can stay for a while." She answered him by closing her eyes, turning her head and allowing herself to sink into the fatigue that had settled over her body like a physical weight.

Colonial One

One week later

She was impeccably dressed; her suit though not new looked fresh and crisp. Her fiery hair caressed her shoulders and she wore her glasses. Her long fingers leafed through the papers before her. When Tory announced him, Roslin looked up long enough to admit him and then returned her eyes to the desk. It allowed him time to take in her appearance, to build up barriers against feelings he shouldn't have. He smoothed his shirt, straightened his tie.

On New Caprica, Tom Zarek had come to know Laura Roslin or at least he felt that he had. He had sought her out often and tried to be friendly, charming, enough to try to help her work past the obvious distrust she harboured for him. He'd helped set up the school, leaned on the right people to offer supplies and did his best to try and keep her safe without rousing her attention.

Zarek knew that Laura Roslin held the key to his future. Baltar would never have lasted. Yes he was brilliant but his utter self absorption, in small doses of benefit to a politician, had already sent waves of dissent through the young settlement.

Zarek had watched as people came to Roslin for opinions, _accidentally_ used her old title, and looked for her to mediate their disputes. The return of the Cylons had sealed Baltar's fate and had brought the military to the forefront once again. When the machines landed Zarek had done what he knew she would respect. He hadn't looked for an advantage, hadn't played games. He had outright opposed them. It had earned him a version of hell but at least he had shared it with her. Shared suffering fostered intimacy. Respect. He felt that from Roslin. If only she hadn't already walked that path with another man.

The Admiral trusted her, with the well being of the Fleet and by all indications with this heart. He didn't need a road map to know that building trust with the Admiral hinged on building it with her. He just hadn't counted on falling for her charms. Quite the opposite he had hoped that she would fall for his.

She looked up again as he took the chair in front of her desk. This close, he could see that the image of perfection he had perceived when he had arrived didn't hold. Though her glasses obscured them, her eyes spoke of pain and fatigue. Her skin was drawn and a little too pale and although the suit and blouse subtly accented her gentle curves it also revealed the weight she had obviously lost. She leaned back and folded her hands in her lap. "Tom. What can I do for you?"

He smiled warmly. "Thanks for fitting me in. I know Major Cottle has limited your schedule."

"Mmm." The noise was almost cute. "A return to sickbay is a powerful bargaining tool, so for now my schedule is his."

"Understandable. Feeling any better?"

She caught something in his eyes when he said it, something unsettling even though she hadn't much on which to base the feeling. She had always compared Tom Zarek to that student that really wanted to please his teacher but wasn't doing it just to be nice. That type of student would behave wonderfully for a time, just to gain your trust. Then when you finally felt comfortable moving him to the back of the room, all hell would break loose leaving you wondering what you had missed. "Much better, thank you."

"'Cause a lot of people aren't." The charming smile disappeared.

"Excuse me?" She tilted her head, bringing her chin up.

"I really thought that you and I understood each other. Finally. That somehow New Caprica had burned off all the false pretences and petty politics. But it seems you were holding back. I can't say I blame you, really, it's one hell of secret."

He decided it was like taking a photograph. A person could only know Laura Roslin in that one instant, that blink of an eye, before she moved and nothing was the same again.

"Perhaps you should try to make a point." Her eyes were narrowed, her body position defensive.

"Whatever you might think, I wasn't involved in this. Yes, people with an interest in the progress of my political career were involved. Not me. But as a result, I know now what you and the Admiral have been hiding. About the Cylon child and the cure for your cancer. You have the power to help a lot of people and you don't use it. Why?"

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

He leaned towards her and before she could answer he continued. "Don't worry, I already have the answer. Like any good politician you had to consider yourself. What would the people think if they knew their leader carried around Cylon DNA? I can tell you a little. It would outrage the Sagittarons and the Gemenese and plant a seed of doubt in each and every colonist that would erode any trust you had earned from them. The question is: what would you do to keep this secret a little longer?"

"Is that a threat?" Anger battled with the fatigue that she just barely kept at bay.

"I just want to help people. It turns out that someone on the _Bounty _still has some of that miracle blood of yours. I intend to help them get it to the people who need it. As long as you keep the military off my back, no one needs to know what you're carrying."

"Help them." She repeated angrily. "I'm sure Tom Zarek stands to make a tidy profit, not just in goods but in reputation." She leaned back and pulled off her glasses. "It's not to your advantage that the people know exactly what they're getting, many would refuse treatment and your reputation would be sullied along with mine."

Zarek smiled. "You forget the advantages of the black market. No one asks where anything comes from and everyone expects risk. I'm giving you a way to share your miracle with people who are suffering at no cost to you, political or otherwise."

_And when their ailments return, or they die from the side effects of the transfusion? Then it's all on you Tom. "_How will you prevent people making the connection to what happened on the _Bounty_?"

"Blood is perishable but we do have a window of time. Get Adama to back off and we'll move it quietly off ship. We'll wait a few weeks before introducing it."

Her stomach ached. _I will lead the people to salvation_. _It is my sole purpose. _How many could she save by swallowing her pride and her human need for revenge? She studied Zarek, hated him for being right.

"Very well, I'll handle Adama, but this ends here. You come back looking for crumbs and our next conversation will take place through steel bars."

He stood and smiled, though she could see that her message had gotten through. "As always a pleasure, Madam President."

"Good night, Tom." Her voice was flat and she slowly replaced her glasses. She returned her gaze to the desk in front of her. He saw himself out.

Battlestar Galactica

Brig

12 hours later

Not really sure how she'd gotten there, Laura Roslin stood in front of Karl Edom's cell. He sat on the bed, head tilted back and resting against the wall. When she appeared, he sat up quickly. He stumbled in his hurry to get on his feet.

"Madam President … you're all right. I've been … praying." He approached the bars slowly, shadows passed over his swollen face. Dark purple bruising marred his nose and the skin under his eyes. He put his uninjured hand through the bars as if he wanted to touch her.

"I'm not sure I believe that you care, Karl." She looked directly into his eyes as they were nearly the same height. She kept a subtle distance from the bars.

He fumbled with his words, trying to assure her that she was mistaken. She cut into his babble.

"Why didn't you just ask for help?"

His eyes dropped from hers and he watched his finger as it traced a slow line along the cold metal that separated them. "Simple." She felt his eyes sweep back up her body as he admitted. "You might have said no."

"Is that what you want me to tell the friends and family of those who died?" She tried to keep her anger from her voice but the attempt was spotty at best. "The service is in ten minutes."

He stood quietly then and looked at her. She decided that he was weak. Flawed in the same way as Baltar. Neither man saw past the end of his own nose. They simply reacted and then mourned whatever mess they had made.

"I … I don't know what to tell them," he said finally. "Is is right to apologise if you would do the same thing, given another chance? I'll pay for what I did. They'll have that comfort."

_Why confess a sin when you had every intention of repeating it. _"What if you could help others?"

The eyes that met hers shone with unshed tears. "How? Seems to me that you're the only one who can do that now."

She didn't answer right away, simply tapped her glasses against her thigh to stem the anger.

He continued: "What's wrong?" His voice dropped to a whisper and she found herself moving towards the bars to hear him. "Are you afraid? Because your cure came from a Cylon?" She was close enough that he was able to capture her fingers against a sweaty palm. "We created them. So, in a way, we created this cure. It shouldn't be feared." He squeezed her hand. "You said I could help … how?"

She pulled her hand away abruptly and resisted the urge to wipe it on her skirt. She didn't step back. "Forget what you just told me. All of it. If anyone asks, the cure came from the black market. You don't know how or why it worked."

"I understand … more than you probably think." He paused and looked away from her. "Henry … I'm never going to see him again. Am I?"

And there he went. Back to himself and his needs.

She almost didn't tell him.

"Henry played his first game of Pyramid today." She watched his face crumble, a mix of anguish and elation. His legs gave out and he fell to his knees in front of her.

He wiped away tears with the back of his good hand. "I'm sorry," was all he said. And he was right. The apology was empty.

Battlestar Galactica

Admiral's quarters.

The service had been difficult. Three of the security officers she had known a long time. One had been new. And young. They had become a part of her routine, of her life, like a comfortable coat that she put on in the morning and left by the door at night. Though there were new faces, fresh handshakes, she ached for the familiarity that had been lost.

Adama had stood beside her. His crisp dress uniform scratchy where it brushed her skin. She had leaned her weight against his strength. The action was as subtle as two people just standing close. She had felt his fingers tighten around hers briefly before she left him to add her words to those of the people who had also loved and lost.

The service for those passengers lost on the _Bounty_ would take place on that ship. She was not welcome.

Her emotions simmered close to the surface and her nerves were badly frayed in the wake of the ceremony. Back in his quarters, Adama pressed a glass into her trembling hand and covered it with his to prevent the alcohol from sloshing onto the floor. She took a long sip and swallowed slowly, focussed on the trickle of fire that burned a path down her throat. It all came spilling out then, everything she'd been through. The _Bounty. _Kara. Karl. Zarek. She stood in stocking feet with one arm around her middle while the other clutched the near empty glass as she laid it all out for him. Till her throat was dry, her face wet and she found she couldn't stand a minute more.

Adama listened quietly from where he stood a few feet in front of her. It had been an ordeal in itself to get Laura to tell him what had happened after the Cylons occupied New Caprica. And he still hadn't gotten over what she had revealed. But this. This new openness. It was a gift that meant more than any she had given him, even his Admiral stars.

Several times while she talked he'd wanted to reach out and comfort her in some way but each time she stopped him with a single look. It told him that if he touched her, she wouldn't be able to finish what she needed to say. She was telling him about Zarek, about a final manipulation that made his skin crawl. And then she was finished and was visibly swaying on her feet. His body didn't need his brain's command to move. He put a warm hand around her waist and guided her slowly towards the couch. When he settled her, she leaned her head back against the cushions and closed her eyes. He sat beside her, a comfortable distance between them and broke the moment.

"So Zarek benefits. He could have been behind this whole thing, Laura. He admits he can contact these people. Makes me sick." She opened her eyes at the gentle rasp of his voice. Her body stiffened and slightly regained its regal bearing.

"I know." It came out as little more than a whisper.

"But Karl Edom pays. Kidnapping, assault, murder. He and those other bastards in the brig pay." He fixed her with an unwavering glare. _Don't push me on this._

She nodded her head slowly, never taking her eyes from his. "Then you shut down the investigation. Release the restrictions on the _Bounty_."

He sat back and let out an exasperated sigh. It went against every tenet of his military training. Search out the enemy. All of them. And bring them down. Now those beliefs were conflicting with faith of all things. Laura's cure was a miracle. That Henry Edom was running around like any average kid was a miracle. How could he deny a people so weighed down by sorrow, hardship and deprivation something that would bring them hope? He had been willing to lie about Earth to give it to them. Was this any different?

He nodded his consent. He took her glass and stood up to refill their drinks. "How do you plan on keeping people from making the connection?"

He heard the leather crinkle as she shifted on the sofa. "The blood will be moved from the _Bounty _to the _Prometheus. _There will be a significant delay between relocation and distribution.'

"What about Henry?" He started pouring and for a while that was the only sound in the room.

"I talked to Karl Edom."

He turned, startled. "You did what?"

He watched her hands as they glided over her skirt, smoothing the lines and creases, and she ignored his question. "Edom's prepared to acknowledge that he acquired the cure from the black market. None of the others involved will risk their profit share by revealing the truth." He could read the disappointment in her face. She wasn't liking this either. "There's something else." She didn't wait for a response from him. "Edom was covered in bruises. That day, in sickbay, there was blood on your uniform…"

_Damn._

He cleared his throat. Alcohol in his hands, he walked slowly back to her. "I interrogated him."

She took the offered glass and surprised him with a single word: "And…"

"I might have hit him."

He wondered if he should try to explain to her what he had been feeling. How the rage had built hour after hour until the sight of her pale, unconscious form had shredded his control like paper. How every blow had brought a measure of satisfaction but had done nothing to soothe the underlying pain.

She simply nodded, absorbed his words and asked "What did he say?"

It surprised him sometimes. How practical … how cold Laura could be. "Nothing that you haven't already told me."

They sat quietly then and sipped their drinks. Some colour seemed to return to her cheeks.

She broke the comfortable silence.

"The press are calling this another _Gideon_ incident. Is it?"

He looked into his glass, swirled the amber liquid. "It wasn't coffee this time, Laura. The marines were fully justified in boarding the _Bounty _and using whatever means necessary to secure your release. This time, they're heroes."

She looked into her own glass. "Kara's … the hero." Was it his imagination or were her words slurred?

He smiled wanly. "Not that she would acknowledge it. Even to herself."

Laura mumbled something, sank back against the sofa and closed her eyes. She looked flushed. It was then that he realised that he had been giving alcohol to a woman barely recovered from severe blood loss. It had to be hitting her with the force of an emergency landing just about now.

He squeezed her arm and gently extracted the glass from her hand. "We should get you home."

"Mmm hmm." She made the colossal mistake of trying to stand and in no time he had his arms full of warm, barely coherent, President. "Not … going … to make it." She mumbled against his chest.

He chuckled, the action gently shaking them both. There was no way he was going to walk Laura through the corridors of _Galactica_ in this condition. He wondered if he had compromised her health in some way. Maybe he should call Cottle. How many times had he helped Saul in this condition? He decided he was well qualified.

There was gentle fumbling as he attempted to remove her suit coat and was thwarted by the genius level puzzle that was the side clasp. He finally guided her hand to it and the jacket fell open almost immediately. The accompanying fit of giggles nearly knocked them over. He slipped it off, careful to set it neatly back on the sofa.

Not trusting himself to remove anything else, he eased her towards his rack. He tried and quickly failed to ignore the feel of her skin under his fingers where her blouse had come loose from her skirt.

She passed out before he could settle her properly. The sudden pull of her full weight caught his back unprepared. He winced, adjusted his grip on her and her head fell back over his elbow. She had a beautiful neck. Heat crept up his cheeks. He deliberately took his time adjusting her on the bed and covered her. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth before he crossed the room to his desk. He sat down but his attention was still drawn by the sleeping form in his rack. Tory was going to spontaneously combust when she found out.

When he finally brought his eyes to the desk the photograph stood out, even among the clutter of books, reports and modelling supplies that littered its surface. Pulling his glasses from his pocket he reached for it, studied it with a trembling hand.

Looking over at Laura, he gently tore the picture and let the pieces fall.

Pilot's Lounge.

The next day.

"Full colours!" Kara Thrace's whoop of victory was unmistakable as Laura eased her way through the hatch to the Pilot's lounge and tried to ignore her pounding head… The others at Kara's table groaned loudly and slapped down their cards. Their ears rang with the pilot's unbridled laughter. Laura raised her hand to indicate that her security should stay at the door; the motion caused one of the junior pilots to notice her. The young woman leapt to her feet.

"President on deck!" Her voice carried and there was soon a loud rumble of chairs scraping the floor as the pilots came to attention.

Laura had long since stopped letting this surprise her. "Please," she said quietly but with sufficient authority, "as you were." The pilots returned to their seats but the noise level was significantly lower as many of them regarded her surreptitiously from behind cards or glasses of weak alcohol. She accepted the scrutiny, in fact welcomed it. What Kara had done for her deserved public recognition.

When the President reached her table, Kara stood slowly. The air of confidence that had surrounded her after the card game evaporated and left her feeling awkward. Laura Roslin could summon any soul in the fleet to her ship at a moment's notice. The significance was not lost on Kara that the President had come to her.

She decided to speak first, to try to set a formal tone. Their experience had brought them closer and however much she appreciated that, Laura didn't need the ridicule of the other pilots. "Madam President. Welcome aboard."

The consummate politician that she was, Laura answered in kind. "Thank you, Captain." She fingered the over abused paper bag that she cradled in the crook of her left arm. "I'm late for a meeting but I needed to drop something off here first. Sorry about the wrapping." She grasped the bag with both hands and presented it to the young pilot. In Laura Roslin's hands, the bag might as well have been a medal.

Kara's brow creased as she accepted the gift. Laura could not have heard what she'd said to her in life station. She didn't deserve this but how could she not take it with so many eyes on her. She shook her headLaura. Pilot's lounge. Right.

She knew what it was from its weight, from the slight sloshing sound that came from the thin paper bag. Glancing at Laura's amused gaze, she pulled the bottle from the bag. Her eyebrows shot up almost instantly. _Single malt? Fifteen years old? Man, stuff this rare should never be wasted on fighter pilots. Didn't she know that pilots would drink jet fuel if they thought it would give them a buzz? _

"Wow … uh … thank you, ma'am," she said still in awe of the sheer rarity of what she was holding. Would Laura be horrified if she opened it?

"It's not nearly adequate but I just wanted to say thank you." Laura extended her hand towards Kara. "Don't put it on a shelf."

Kara looked from the bottle to Laura's hand. She bit her lip. Laura was alive; that _was _something to celebrate. "Make sure you have a glass, people." The room erupted in cheers at the mere thought that Kara might share; the noise level increased as pilots fought over glassware. The other pilots sufficiently distracted, she took Laura's hand and used it to pull her close. The hug was sloppy and rough but Laura didn't seem to mind.

She leaned in and spoke to Kara alone. "It wasn't stupid and I would do it again."

Fin.

I hope you enjoyed the story. Thanks to everyone who has left comments; please continue as I love them all. Going to take a break and then I'll be writing more hiatus fic :).


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